THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PRYOR,  Rosrer  Atkinson,  judge;  b.  Din- 
widdle  Co..  Va..  July  19,  1828:  *.  Rev.  Theodo- 
rlck  Bland  ami  I.u.-v  (Atkinson)  r. ;  grad. 
Hampden  Sidney  Coll..  isir,  (LJ..I>.i.  U.  of  Va.. 
1848;  m.  Sara  A'srn*  ».  NOT.  8.  1848. 

Admitted  to  bar,  1849;  editor  South  Side  Demo 
crat,  PetershurK,  Va.,  Kiiciui;  •  T  :md  The  South. 
Richmond.  Bevi'tM  I  >TS.;  I'.s.  .-pi.  inli:i>ii  r  t-, 
Greece,  1-  b  Contcress  (1859- 

Cl),    rt'elfcicd    to   :;  u    did    not 

si-rvi-;  di'l.  to  |  •  leratc  CongreM 

and    mem.    Isi    •  • 

1862;  entered  C.s  A 


16,  18ti2:  rr^iKin-il  cniunin.  nii( 

A.luiilli'd     tu     V.V.     h;ir.     l^'v 

IM.I;  ''0;    cji'l 

ol'  ('-mimon  o  1;  jm 


Ct.J 


resumed  law 
69th  St.,  New  York. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •   CHICAGO 
SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO  ,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE    COLONEL'S 
STORY 


MRS.    ROGER    A.    PRYOR 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE    MOTHER    OF    WASHINGTON    AND    HER 
TIMES,"     "REMINISCENCES    OF    PEACE    AND    WAR*' 


Nefo  gcrfc 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1911 

All  rigbtt   rtttr-vtd 


CorrucHT,  1911, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

S«  up  and  electrotyped.      Publitotd  March,  1911.      IUprint«d 
April,  1911. 


Tfrnn 

J.  8.  Oiuhlof  Co.  —  Berwick  A  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  MAM^ 


QTo  tfje 

OF 
MY     DEAR     ADOPTIVE     MOTHER 

MARY  BLAIR  HARGRAVE 

TO    WHOM    I    OWE    ALL    THAT    I    AM 
AND    MAY    HOPE    TO    BE 


THE   COLONEL'S  STORY 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 


CHAPTER  I 

As  I  write  of  the  Colonel,  he  seems  to  stand 
before  me  :  handsome,  deferential,  and  with  a 
certain  repose  of  bearing,  ever  the  hall-mark  of  a 
gentleman. 

He  was  wont  to  say  of  himself,  "  I  am  like  a 
N  weather-beaten  old  oak  :  of  small  use  in  the 
J,  landscape,  but  with  a  sheltering  arm  still,  and, 
>  please  God,  a  sound  heart." 

I  can  hardly  imagine  any  one  who  less   re 
sembled  the  king  of  the  forest.     If  it  be  neces- 
$    sary  to  illustrate  the  Colonel  by  a  tree  of  some 
*     kind,  I  might  liken  him,  in  his  grey  suit,  to  a  silver 

2  birch ;  tall  and  straight,  and  well  lichened  at  the 
g    top  with  grey  moss. 

3  Little  Dorothea  Berkeley  could  remember  no 
time  when  he  was  not  an  honoured  guest  of  her 
house.     Her  sister  Shirley  recollected  well  when 
he  first  came.     Shirley  was  ten  years  old ;  but 
Dorothea's  little  spirit  had  just  been  given  to 
their  sweet  young  mother,  and  although  she  was 


44334O 


4  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

present  at  the  time  of  his  arrival,  she  was  not  in  a 
condition  to  observe  events. 

He  had  been  invited  by  Dr.  Berkeley,  along 
with  other  distant  parishioners  of  the  country 
church,  to  dine  after  service.  An  afternoon 
storm  prevented  the  return  home  of  the  guests 
of  that  day.  The  next  day  Shirley  overheard 
her  mother  say  to  her  father  :  "  I  haven't  the  heart 
to  let  poor  James  go  back  to  his  desolate  home. 
Let's  ask  him  to  spend  the  week  with  us." 

"Desolate  ?"  exclaimed  her  husband. 

"Miss  Nancy  was  a  good  woman,  Charles  ! 
Just  and  upright  in  all  her  dealings." 

"God  forbid  I  should  deny  it,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"The  actions  of  such  are  supposed  to  blossom  in 
the  dust.  If  they  do,  Jim  will  find  under  the 
willows  a  fine  crop  of  a  peculiarly  thorny  species 
of  cactus." 

"James  is  not  looking  well,"  rejoined  his  wife. 

"Of  course  not,"  the  Doctor  said.  "He  misses 
his  tonic  —  his  daily  stimulus.  He  is  suffering 
from  void  and  depression.  Just  wait  until  I 
find  another  spirited  housekeeper  for  him  and 
he'll  be  all  right.  I  had  hard  work  yesterday  to 
bring  him  home  with  me.  He  resisted  at  first 
'out  of  respect  to  poor  Nancy's  memory.' ' 

On  the  night  of  this  visit  of  the  Colonel's  he 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  5 

had  slept,  because  of  the  overflowing  house,  in 
the  "office, "  by  which  name  the  Virginia  planter 
dignified  a  small  building  in  a  corner  of  his 
grounds  provided  to  serve  as  the  master's 
cabinet  d'affaires,  where  he  might,  undisturbed, 
give  audience  to  his  servants,  transact  his 
business,  and  incidentally  lodge  the  young  men 
of  his  house-parties. 

The  Colonel  never  afterwards  slept  anywhere 
else.  For  a  long  time  it  was  his  custom  on  Mon 
days  to  express  regret  that  he  "  must  leave  some 
time  during  the  day,"  and  the  Doctor  as  regu 
larly  invited  him  to  stay  another  week.  In 
telling  Dorothea  this,  Shirley  added:  "He  is 
just  like  Isaac  Watts  !  Sir  Thomas  Abney  in 
vited  Isaac  Watts  to  spend  a  night  at  Stoke 
Newington  and  he  staid  forty  years." 

The  first  keen  consciousness  of  every  child  is 
awakened  by  some  unusual  event  in  the  routine  of 
its  life ;  and  yet,  having  no  past  as  a  standard  of 
the  reasonable  and  natural,  few  things  surprise 
children.  Presently  something  happens  so  tran- 
scendently  delicious  that  a  new  life  dates  from  it, 
and  it  never  ceases  to  be  a  vivid  memory. 

One  event  in  little  Dorothea's  child  life  stood 
thus  apart.  She  had  run  away  from  her  nurse 
as  she  was  conducted  through  the  great  hall, 


6  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

and  had  followed  the  Colonel  into  the  Holy  of 
Holies,  the  parlour.  He  stood  by  the  high  man 
tel-shelf,  looking  at  the  articles  thereon  —  some 
of  which  he  had  presented  to  Mrs.  Berkeley  on 
his  return  from  his  last  visit  abroad.  Looking 
down,  he  espied  the  infant  with  upturned  face, 
and  instantly  she  found  herself  swept  upward  in 
his  strong  arms  to  a  giddy  seat  on  his  shoulder, 
that  he  might  introduce  her,  as  he  said,  to  the 
Arts  and  Sciences.  There  she  was,  face  to  face 
with  objects  she  had  worshipped  from  a  distance 
—  the  stately  figures  of  the  philosophers  in  an 
engraving  of  the  School  of  Athens,  a  little  marble 
Venus,  and  a  Wedgwood  reproduction  of  the 
Barberini  Vase.  This  last  she  might  "kiss  but 
not  touch."  It  had  been  broken  and  mended, 
foreshadowing  the  fate,  some  years  later,  of  its 
famous  prototype.  The  child  gazed  long  and 
wonderingly  at  its  mystical  figures  :  the  timid 
soul  fearfully  entering  the  land  of  shadows,  the 
little  Love  looking  back  and  lighting  the  way 
with  his  torch.  In  her  ecstasy  she  threw  the 
fetter  of  a  baby  arm  around  the  Colonel's  neck, 
and  then  and  there  made  him  her  thrall  forever. 
A  joyous  child  life  had  followed  that  day,  en 
riched  at  every  step  by  the  Colonel's  kindness. 
Shirley  and  Dorothea  had  the  freedom  of  his 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  7 

two- roomed  apartment  in  the  yard  —  the  Doctor 
having  discreetly  retired.  He  allowed  them  to 
roast  apples  on  his  hearth,  where  the  juices  could 
run  without  let  or  hindrance.  They  even  coaxed 
an  occasional  partridge  or  sora  from  Hannah  the 
cook,  and  roasted  it  to  perfection,  suspended  by  a 
string  from  his  mantel  to  revolve  slowly  before 
the  glowing  coals.  They  took  the  Colonel  with 
them  chestnutting  and  chinquapinning,  making 
him  open  prematurely  the  prickly  burrs.  More 
over  he  was  retained  as  counsel  when  Dorothea 
was  arraigned  for  breaking  the  laws  of  the  land. 
And  an  able  advocate  he  was  !  He  never  lost  a 
cause.  Only  after  flagrant  acts  of  lese  majeste 
was  counsel  indispensable  —  such,  for  instance,  as 
putting  a  night-cap  on  the  sacred  bust  of  Patrick 
Henry  !  Knowledge  of  the  child's  lesser  crimes 
rarely  reached  the  foot  of  the  throne.  The 
self-constituted  Prosecuting  Attorney,  Hannah,  — 
so  quick  to  threaten,  so  eager  to  indemnify  by  a 
tart  or  cooky, — was  quite  capable  of  corruption 
through  a  bribe  and  of  consequent  malfeasance  in 
office.  Everybody  caressed  the  baby  of  the 
house,  whose  enterprise  expanded  with  her  years 
and  opportunities.  An  active,  inquisitive  child, 
running  freely  among  the  busy  workers  of  an  in 
dustrious  Virginia  household,  might  easily  develop 


8  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

—  like  de  Quincey's  brother  —  "a  capacity  for 
mischief  amounting  to  inspiration." 

After  a  while  the  Colonel  forgot  the  usual  Mon 
day  courtesies,  and  nothing  more  was  said  of  the 
possibility  of  his  leaving  Berkeley  Castle.  His 
own  inherited  plantation,  with  a  comfortable 
house  and  old-fashioned  garden,  was  five  or  six 
miles  away,  and  thither  he  went  occasionally  to 
consult  the  old  family  servant  who  was  his  over 
seer.  He  was  quite  alone  in  the  world.  He  had 
no  family  ties  or  obligations  ;  had  lost  his  parents 
while  he  was  a  student  at  Annapolis  and  been 
taken  under  the  wing  of  his  uncle,  Admiral  Ap 
Catesby  Jones,  then  commander  of  the  Pacific 
squadron.  He  was  with  the  Admiral  on  the 
memorable  occasion  when  a  false  rumour  of  our 
conquest  of  Mexico  reached  him,  and  caused  him 
to  plant  the  United  States  flag  prematurely  on 
the  walls  of  Monterey.  Our  Colonel  had 
wearied  of  the  sea,  resigned  from  the  navy,  trav 
elled  abroad,  returned  and  studied  law,  pursuing 
the  practice,  as  he  said,  until  it  fled  from  him. 
Restless  and  lonely,  he  occupied  himself  —  some 
times  in  politics,  sometimes  in  fitful  experiments 
in  farming.  He  had  entertained  various  schemes 
and  abandoned  them,  had  invented  a  labour- 
saving  machine  of  some  sort,  which  was  not 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  9 

patented  in  time  to  prevent  the  use  of  a  similar 
invention  by  somebody  else.  In  this  last  experi 
ment  he  was  fully  aware  that  his  ideas  had  been 
seized  and  utilized  by  another ;  but  he  was  con 
tent  that  it  should  be  so.  He  had  enjoyed  his 
own  part  of  it,  and  his  competitor  was  quite 
welcome  to  the  material  profit.  Any  other  re 
sult  would  have  been  an  innovation  in  the  history 
of  his  race.  Like  Renan's  ancestors  "they  pos 
sessed  at  least  one  proof  of  their  nobility  —  that 
whenever  they  attempted  to  engage  in  any  com 
mercial  business,  they  were  sure  to  be  defrauded." 
They  were  too  fastidious,  sensitive,  proud,  orwhat 
not,  to  press  forward  and  help  themselves  first. 
"When  it  came  to  taking  the  best  piece  out  of  a 
dish  which  was  handed  round,  their  natural  po 
liteness  stood  in  the  way."  It  is  curious  to  find  a 
brilliant  Frenchman  of  that  day  expressing  just 
the  sentiments  which  controlled  the  old  Virginian 
and  for  which  he  is  so  often  ridiculed ;  —  that 
"the  pursuit  of  wealth  is  not  the  pursuit  of  a 
gentleman,  and  that  it  is  a  more  respectable  and 
honourable  position,  indicative  of  a  higher 
breeding  and  a  finer  taste,  to  be  decently  poor 
than  to  be  even  decently  affluent." 

Having  enough  land  to  keep  himself,  his  la 
bourers,  and  cattle  in  comfort,  help  the  poor  and 


io  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

the  church,  it  never  occurred  to  the  Colonel  that 
any  obligation  rested  upon  him  to  increase  his 
fortune.  He  was  a  dreamer,  and  he  was  rich 
enough  at  least  to  indulge  in  dreaming.  Accord 
ing  to  the  ancient  poet,  dreams  reach  mortals 
through  two  gates.  One,  the  gate  of  horn,  ad 
mits  prophetic  fancies ;  the  other,  the  white 
and  shining  gate  of  ivory,  through  which 
pass  alluring,  illusory  dreams.  Our  Colonel's 
dreams  all  passed  through  the  gate  of  ivory  ! 
Withal  he  was  delightfully  gentle  and  amiable, 
a  man  of  refined  tastes,  and  the  soul  of  honour 
and  chivalry  of  the  highest  type.  He  had 
always  known  Dr.  Berkeley  and  his  lovely  wife, 
and  with  them  he  unconsciously  cast  his  lot, 
happier  in  their  home  than  he  had  ever  been 
in  all  his  life  of  thirty-five  years,  —  years  which 
had  prematurely  whitened  his  hair,  so  that  he 
seemed  older. 

One  morning  in  the  early  spring  the  Colonel 
appeared  with  the  most  charming  little  country 
wagon,  to  which  was  hitched  his  spirited  "Con 
queror."  "You  will  ruin  his  gait,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "if  he  dawdles  along  country  lanes, 
stopping  every  five  minutes  for  the  children  to  dig 
ferns  !  It's  a  shame,  James,  to  degrade  your 
racer  in  this  way." 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  n 

"Oh,  I  have  given  him  up,  "laughed  the  Colonel. 
"I've  rechristened  him  ' Primrose*  and  consigned 
him  to  tread  hereafter  the  paths  of  dalliance." 
Many  and  happy  were  the  afternoons  spent  in 
hunting  for  arbutus,  or  butterfly  orchids,  or  the 
curling  fronds  of  the  early  ferns. 

But  the  happiest  of  all  afternoons  —  of  all 
the  afternoons  in  all  the  world — were  spent  by  the 
little  party  in  a  charming  fairy  glen  in  the  woods. 
Shirley,  who  had  been  sent  to  school  in  New  York, 
was  home  for  the  Easter  holidays,  and  the  Colonel 
had  cleared  this  spot  of  all  debris,  —  sticks,  leaves, 
and  undergrowth, —  smoothed  the  grass  to  velvety 
softness,  and  there  under  the  trees  the  sixteen- 
year-old  beauty  held  court.  No  wheel-tracks  nor 
hoof-prints  led  to  this  glen.  Dorothea  planted 
a  great  ring  of  grass  in  the  moss,  that  the  fairies, 
dancing  by  moonlight,  might  find  at  hand  stems 
on  which  to  hang  their  cups.  By  day  they  were 
all  gone  to  fairy-land,  and  she  installed  her  flower- 
maidens,  the  blossoms  of  wild  azalea  and  yellow 
jessamine,  capped  them  with  the  little  yellow 
lady-slippers,  and  set  their  tables  with  dainty 
cups-and-saucers  of  white  narcissus. 

Thoroughly  delightful  was  the  talk  inspired 
by  the  delicious  little  flowers.  The  Colonel  could 
tell  wonderful  floral  legends,  many  of  which  he 


12  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

probably  invented,  and  which  cannot,  therefore, 
be  given  to  the  truthful  pages  of  this  story.  But 
one,  the  loveliest  of  all,  was  how  the  lily-of-the- 
valley  came  to  be.  "Fairies,  you  must  know," 
said  the  Colonel,  "are  under  strict  government. 
They  need  it.  They  are  volatile,  giddy  little 
creatures,  and  would  dance  themselves  to  death  if 
allowed  to  follow  their  own  sweet  will.  They  must 
always  dance  within  a  charmed  ring  to  keep  the 
brownies  away,  —  for  fairies  belong  to  the  aris 
tocracy  and  cannot  keep  low  company.  More 
over  they  are  never  permitted  to  be  surprised  by 
the  dawn  —  or  by  anything  else  !  They  must  be 
up  and  away  before  the  moon  goes  down. 

"Once  they  had  a  particularly  good  time. 
They  hung  on  the  grass  the  little  cups  in  which 
they  were  to  gather  the  morning  dew,  and  were  so 
happy  at  their  ball  that  the  rising  sun  surprised 
them.  Running  for  their  cups  to  collect  the 
Queen's  breakfast  draught,  each  one  was  found  to 
be  fastened  tight  to  the  slender  stem  on  which  it 
hung.  The  little  fairies  wept  so  piteously  that 
broad  green  leaves  were  mercifully  permitted  to 
grow  around  the  cups,  completely  hiding  the 
evidences  of  disobedience.  One  must  look  under 
these  leaves  for  lilies-of-the-valley." 

Primrose  was  always  tethered  at  a  safe  dis- 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  13 

tance,  where  his  hoofs  and  nibbling  could  not  in 
jure  the  treasures  of  the  glen,  —  treasures  of 
moss,  violets,  harebells,  lady-slippers,  cardinal- 
flowers,  —  which  fringed  the  brook  and  leaned 
over  to  drink  at  the  little  stream  running  away 
down  the  centre  of  the  glen.  Great  willows 
arched  above  the  small  Paradise,  allowing  just 
enough  sunshine  to  gem  the  brook  with  diamonds. 
There  Dorothea  scooped  out  tiny  grottos,  paving 
them  with  pebbles,  and  reared  fairy  castles  car 
peted  with  moss  ;  while  the  Colonel,  having  piled 
the  wagon-cushions  for  a  seat  for  Shirley,  would 
draw  from  his  pocket  a  small  volume,  Shelley 
or  Keats,  and  read  aloud  delicious  selections 
describing  just  such  fairy  glens  as  this. 

Shirley  had  grown  to  be  tall  and  straight  as  a 
young  cedar,  and  beautiful  exceedingly.  She 
would  clasp  her  long  arms  about  her  knees  with  a 
far-away  look  in  her  eyes,  and  far  away  from 
Shelley  or  Keats  or  the  good  Colonel,  —  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe,  —  were  all  her  thoughts. 

A  wonderful,  long-stemmed  flower  bloomed  in 
this  glen,  not  a  pansy,  but  a  deep  velvet  violet, 
never  seen  elsewhere.  "They  are  like  Shirley," 
said  the  Colonel;  "born  in  the  purple,  very  re 
served  and  stately,  and  yet  stretching  slender 
necks  for  a  peep  at  the  world." 


I4  THE   COLONEL'S  STORY 

The  Colonel  was  attended  in  these  expedi 
tions  by  a  little  negro  boy  —  of  a  blackness 
exceeding  the  traditional  ace  of  spades,  and 
wonderfully  shrewd  and  observant.  His  arrival 
on  the  plantation  had  been  coincident  with  a 
visit  of  the  Colonel's  a  few  years  before  Doro 
thea  was  born.  A  message  from  Hannah  the 
cook  had  come  early  one  morning,  that  "Marse 
Jeems  would  please  find  a  notable  name  for  a 
mighty  fine  boy." 

The  Colonel  had  gravely  considered  the 
matter  and  had,  as  a  committee  of  one  upon 
name  and  title,  reported  "Pizarro"  as  altogether 
suitable. 

In  the  first  place  the  boy,  like  the  illustrious 
Spaniard,  "was  of  obscure  lineage,  not  likely  to 
receive  countenance  or  support  from  his  father." 
Secondly,  he  had  at  an  early  age  evinced  ability 
as  a  conqueror  and  destroyer.  Had  he  not  held 
captive  the  great  Purveyor  of  the  realm,  thereby 
subjecting  the  inhabitants  thereof  to  comparative 
subjection  ? 

Hannah  appreciated  the  distinction  conferred 
upon  her  offspring.  Among  her  acquaintances 
were  Washingtons,  Jeffersons,  Randolphs,  —  even 
a  Rochambeau,  unhappily  corrupted  into  "Rush- 
ingbow, "  -  but  she  was  Queen  Mother  of  the  one 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  15 

and  only  Pizarro.  The  boy  was  early  promoted 
to  the  service  of  his  sponsor.  When  it  chanced 
that  a  visitor  observed  the  droll  little  fellow  and 
inquired  his  name,  he  would  gravely  answer, 
"Body  servant  to  the  Gunnel,  sah." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  Colonel  would  sometimes,  on  the  way 
home  from  the  glen,  take  the  reins  in  his  own 
hands,  and  bidding  Pizarro  run  before  to  let  down 
the  bars  in  fences  that  crossed  the  road,  he  would 
turn  Primrose's  head  down  a  grassy  lane  leading 
out  from  the  woods,  that  he  might  "speak  to 
Mrs.  Bangs,"  i.e.  convey  to  her  a  well-stocked 
basket  from  Berkeley  Castle. 

He  would  dismount  at  a  well  with  a  "sweep," 
-  the  stout  trunk  of  a  young  tree,  weighted  with 
stones  at  one  end  and  holding  a  bucket  at  the 
other,  —  and,  unhooking  Primrose's  check-rein, 
would  direct  Pizarro  to  draw  a  pail  of  water  for 
his  refreshment,  while  he  went  forward  to  find 
Mrs.  Bangs.  She  usually  came  out  to  her  bound 
ary  fence  and  leaned  upon  it  as  she  talked. 
A  troop  of  carrot-headed  children  gathered 
around  her,  —  she,  her  children,  her  house,  and  all 
belonging  to  it,  an  unbroken  consonance  of  thrift 
less  poverty.  Even  the  geranium  in  a  box  on  an 
old  stump  had  early  given  up  the  ghost,  utterly  re- 

16 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  17 

fusing  to  make  an  effort  towards  leaf  or  blossom. 
The  earth  all  around  her  dwelling  was  trodden 
bare  and  brown,  and  bare  and  brown  were  the 
feet  of  the  tramplers.  Mrs.  Bangs  —  tall,  gaunt, 
depressed  —  had  an  inimitable  way  of  picking 
up  and  even  anticipating  the  Colonel's  questions 
and  weaving  answers  into  a  subtle  expression  of 
her  troubles  and  needs. 

"Won't  Miss  Shirley  an'  Dolly 'light  ?  Wall— 
I  can't  blame  'em.  Oh,  no,  sir,  the  pea-fowl  won't 
skeer  yo'  horse.  He  ain't  wild.  He  jus*  feel 
sorter  'shamed  an'  naked-like  'cause  I  pulled  out 
his  tail  feathers  yistiddy.  That's  why  he's 
runnin'.  No,  sir,  I  ain't  sellin'  'em  this  spring. 
It's  little  I've  got  to  set  off  my  front  room,  let 
alone  sellin'  my  pea-fowl  feathers.  Run  in,  sister, 
an'  tell  Ma'y  Jane  to  sen'  out  them  las'  feathers 
to  show  little  Dolly.  Thank  ye,  Cunnel !  —  the 
meal  lasted  toler'ble  well  an'  the  bacon,  too. 
They  jus'  about  giv'n  out  now.  I  wouldn' 
mine  havin'  a  quarter  o'  lamb  an'  a  few  pounds  o' 
flour ;  —  'twould  be  a  sort  o'  change.  Mr. 
Bates  ?  No,  sir,  -  -  I  ain't  see  Mr.  Bates  for  a 
mont'  or  mo'.  You  needn'  sen'  word  to  him  to 
come  aroun'.  We  can  git  along.  'Tain't  no  use 
for  Mr.  Bates  to  come  here,  settin'  an'  theein'  an' 
thou'm'  me  'bout  bringin'  up  the  chillern  indust- 


18  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

trus.  T  want  to  know  what  he  knows  'bout 
chillern  !  He  am'  nuver  been  down  with  nine, 
an'  up  ergin  to  do  fur  'em ;  —  let  alone  mumps 
an'  chicken-pox,  an'  hoopin'  cough  an'  measles  ! 
Hit's  mighty  easy  talkin'.  I  hear  folks  say  them 
Quakers  nuver  speaks  onless  the  sperrit  moves 
'em.  The  sperrit  cert'nly  is  spry  roun'  Mr. 
Bates  when  he  comes  here.  Hit  nuver  moves 
him  to  give  us  nothin' !  He  ain't  give  us  a  cent, 
nor  a  peck  o'  meal ;  jus'  sets  'roun'  an'  talks  re 
ligion.  Maybe  he  thinks  he  can  convert  me  an' 
Ma'y  Jane  to  be  Quakers ;  but  Ma'y  Jane  can't 
no  ways  abide  them  Quaker  bunnets.  She  kin 
make  her  own  bunnets,  an'  they  are  right  tasty  — 
but  Ma'y  Jane  say  she  never  could  make  them 
box-pleat  Quaker  crowns  —  she  never  could  get 
'em  to  set.  No,  sir,  I  ain't  hear  a  word  from  Mr. 
Bangs.  Thar's  them  as  says  we  fout  'fore  he  lef 
me.  Mr.  Bangs  never  strucken  me  a  lick  sence 
I  was  the  mother  of  six  —  an'  I  'low  'twas  my  fault 
then  :  answerin'  of  him  back  when  he  was  wo'  out 
with  the  chillern.  'Tain't  likely  he'd  wait  twel  I 
was  the  mother  o'  nine  ef  he  was  layin'  out  for  to 
leave  me.  No,  sir,  —  we  didn't  have  no  words 
mo'n  common.  I  never  did  hold  with  lettin' 
no  man  call  me  ha'sh  names  'thouten  me  sayin' 
the  same  words  back  at  'im.  Ther  wornt  no 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  19 

onfrennliness  —  jes'  to  let  'im  see  how  them 
words  soun's.  He  jus'  up  an'  tole  me  he  was  goin' 
for  a  walk,  two  mont's  ago  come  nex'  Sunday,  an' 
he  took  an'  slip  out  the  back  do'  an'  I  ain't  see 
him  sence.  He'll  come  back  befo'  frost,  I  reckon. 
He  nuver  done  no  work  no  how  in  summer-time, 
'cept'nhuntin'  the  weasel  when  he  come  terrefyin' 
the  chickens.  Sence  he  went  away  I  los'  fo* 
of  my  forwardes'  pullets.  I  cert'nly  was  sorry 
he  carried  his  gun  with  'im.  The  hawks  pester 
me  tumble  with  my  young  chickens ;  an'  Tom 
he  kin  shoot  jus'  as  well  as  his  Pa.  Oh,  thank  ye, 
Gunnel  !  Thank  ye  !  Tom'll  cert'nly  be  proud 
to  have  a  gun  !  His  Pa  needn'  hurry  home  now. 
Well,  you  goin'  ?  I  cert'nly  am  obleeged  to  you 
for  callin'  by.  Good-bye,  Miss  Shirley  !  Ask  yo' 
Pa  please  to  drop  by  an'  see  Ma'y  Jane.  Ask 
him  to  bring  her  a  race  or  two  o'  ginger.  She 
'pears  right  down  poly  an'  peaked  this  spring  — 
don't  do  nothin'  but  jus*  set  an'  set ;  an',  oh, 
Miss  Shirley  !  'Fo'  you  git  out  o'  hearin'  —  ask 
Miss  Prissy  to  len'  me  the  loan  of  her  sleeve 
pattern.  Ma'y  Jane  can't  get  her  cornsent  to  go 
to  meetin'  in  them  skimpy  sleeves  o'  hern  an' 
thar's  goin'  to  be  a  baptizin'  a  mont'  from  nex' 
Sunday.  An',  oh,  Gunnel!"  But  Primrose  had 
quickened  his  pace  and  shaken  the  Bangs  dust 


20  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

from  his  flying  feet.     They  were  too  far  on  their 
way  homeward  to  hear  more. 

"I  never  intend,"  said  the  Doctor,  one  day, 
"that  any  family  living  on  my  land  shall  go  to  the 
poorhouse.  That  fellow  Bangs  has  been  seen  on 
his  way  to  the  West.  He  will  never  return. 
He  will  be  small  loss,  —  but  those  nine  children 
of  his  !  They  must  not  suffer  next  winter." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  it  over  for  some  time," 
said  the  Colonel,  "  and  I  have  a  plan.  You  know 
Stevens,  my  overseer  on  the  upper  plantation  ? 
He  is  a  steady-going,  middle-aged  fellow.  There 
is  an  excellent  house  near  the  mill.  Why  not 
send  Mrs.  Bangs  to  keep  house  for  the  overseer  ?. 
Her  boys  could  find  work  at  the  mill.  Who 
knows  ?  Mary  Jane  might  capture  Stevens." 

"Now  just  there  you  may  pause,"  said  Mrs. 
Berkeley.  "Mary  Jane  is  'keeping  company* 
with  Dick  Evans.  Mary  Jane  stands  before  the 
counter  at  the  country  store  and  looks  over  the 
calicoes ;  Dick  stands  behind  the  counter  and 
looks  at  Mary  Jane." 

"Take  care  !"  said  the  Doctor.  "Dick  is  no 
good,  I'm  afraid." 

A  few  weeks  later  Mrs.  Berkeley  triumphantly 
announced:  "It  is  all  settled!  i  have  given 
Mary  Jane  Bangs  a  wedding-dress, — blue  merino, 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  21 

—  and  Aunt  Prissy  has  sent  pins  and  needles  and 
stockings  and  things.  There  are  two  good  rooms 
over  the  store,  and  Mr.  Perkins  will  rent  them 
cheaply.  I  was  about  to  ask  you,  Charles,  to 
lend  them  the  light  wagon  some  day  next  week 
to  take  the  party  to  the  Rectory." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  us  ?"  everybody  ex 
claimed  at  once. 

"Because  you  would  have  meddled  and  broken 
it  off,"  laughed  Mrs.  Berkeley.  "I  could  take 
no  risks.  Away  from  her  mother  I  hope  to  do 
something  with  Mary  Jane.  She  is  a  good  girl, 
and,  really,  not  ill-looking.  Mrs.  Bangs  tells  me 
Dick  is  very  much  in  love.  All  looks  promising 
for  the  young  couple." 

On  the  day  before  the  expected  wedding,  Mrs. 
Bangs  presented  herself  in  her  limp  sunbonnet 
and  her  usual  dejected  manner. 

"Is  anybody  sick?"  asked  Mrs.  Berkeley, 
kindly. 

"No'm  —  the  chillern  are  toler'ble  peart, 
thank  Gawd  !  Ma'y  Jane  ain't,  so  to  speak, 
reconciled  to  stay  in'  home.  Yes'm  —  he's  lef 
her  !  Writ  a  letter  tellin'  her  'twon't  be  wuth 
while  to  look  fer  him.  Things  cert'nly  does 
run  in  families  !  What's  bred  in  the  bone  is  boun' 
to  come  out  in  the  flesh." 


22  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Nonsense,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  impatiently. 
"That  doesn't  apply  at  all.  What  has  Mary 
done?  Why  should  he  leave  her  ?" 

"He  jus'  natcherlly  took  after  her  Pa — jus' 
walked  out  o'  the  back  do',  'thout  sayin'  nuthin' 
to  nobody." 

"But  Mr.  Perkins?  Mr.  Perkins  had  advanced 
a  month's  salary." 

"I  jus'  come  from  thar,"  said  Mrs.  Bangs. 
"  Mr.  Perkins  ain't  no  ways  consarned.  He 
jus'  said  'twan't  none  o'  his  business." 

"He  is  in  with  him  !"  said  Miss  Prissy,  indig 
nantly.  "It  shouldn't  be  allowed.  Dick  Evans 
must  be  found  and  made  to  behave." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  keers  to  ketch  'im,"  sighed 
the  poor  woman.  "When  you  capter  them  men 
erginst  ther  will,  'thout  you  got  time  to  watch 
'em  mighty  close,  they  gits  away  ergin.  Ma'y 
Jane  is  tumble  cut  up  an'  hurted  in  her  feelin's." 

The  Colonel's  plan  was  presented  and  found 
immediate  favour.  The  mill  sounded  most  at 
tractive.  Then,  too,  the  railroad  had  just  passed 
through  the  country.  "Could  they  ride  on  the 
cars  ?"  The  Colonel  promised  to  give  them 
this  pleasure.  Their  humble  home  was  five  miles 
from  the  depot  and  their  destination  ten  miles 
farther,  near  the  railroad  and  in  another  parish. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  23 

He  busied  himself,  helping  the  forlorn  family. 
The  cars  passed  very  early  in  the  morning ;  that 
was  unfortunate,  but  the  Doctor  sent  them  with 
his  trusty  coachman  in  a  comfortable  conveyance 
with  instructions  to  see  them  on  their  train. 
Their  household  goods  preceded  them  in  a  farm 
wagon. 

The  Colonel  hoped  much  from  the  move,  and 
was  very  happy  over  the  poor  woman's  prospects. 
She  was  not  to  be  limited  in  pigs  and  poultry. 
She  was  to  have  a  cow  and  garden  space. 

When  the  family  assembled  on  the  veranda 
next  morning,  the  venerable  coachman,  Uncle 
Peter,  approached,  and  baring  his  grey  head 
proceeded  to  make  his  report.  All  had  gone 
well.  He  had  gotten  them  in  time  to  the  depot, 
but  was  obliged  to  consign  them  to  the  care  of 
Mr.  Bates,  whom  he  found  arriving,  and  wait 
with  his  horses  a  little  way  off,  for  the  mare  was 
"skittish."  He  had  not  turned  homeward, 
however,  until  the  whistle  announced  that  they 
were  fairly  off. 

"That's  well  over,"  said  the  Doctor,  "and  I 
am  heartily  glad  of  it.  Now  if  we  can  solve  all 
our  'poor  white'  problems  as  happily,  we  shall  do 
well." 

"I  am  sure  Dick  will  return,"  said  his  wife. 


24  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Mary  Jane  in  a  vine-clad  cottage  overflowing 
with  corn-pone  and  fried  chicken  will  be  a  very 
different  girl  from  Mary  Jane  in  a  hovel." 

"  Good  Gawd  ! "  exclaimed  Milly,  from  an  upper 
window,  "what's  this  a'  comin'  ?" 

Mrs.  Bangs  and  her  nine  children  were  emerg 
ing  from  the  avenue  of  poplars  and  walking 
around  on  the  gravelled  path.  "Well,  here  I  be  !" 
she  said  cheerfully  as  she  sank  upon  the  doorstep, 
-  the  nine  children  dropping  down  around  her ; 
"I  hope  I  ain't  wo'  out  my  welcome  !" 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  get  left?"  ex 
claimed  everybody  at  once. 

"Well — it  was  jus*  this-er-way,"  said  the  poor 
woman,  fanning  herself  with  her  "slat"  bon 
net.  "Some  of  the  neighbours  was  gittin'  off  the 
cyars,  comin'  home,  an'  I  had  to  shake  han's  an' 
tell  'em  all  how  d'ye  and  then  good-bye.  Course  I 
had  to  run  across  an'  tell  Miss  Betty  Oliver  good 
bye,  an'  after  all  she  was  asleep.  Them  steam 
injines  is  cert'nly  oupatient.  Fus'  thing  I  know, 
they  was  movin'  off.  I  started  to  jump  on,  but 
Mr.  Bates  hilt  on  to  me  an'  Ma'y  Jane  an'  said, 
did  we  want  to  be  kilt  ?  'Thee  never  did  have 
any  sense ;'  —  that's  what  Mr.  Bates  say  to  me  ! 
Tom,  he  run  after  the  cyars  a  good  bit,  hollerin' 
to  'em  to  stop.  They  wornt  noways  particular 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  25 

'bout  manners.  I  never  see  sich  !  Jus'  went  on 
tootin'  like  everybody  was  on  bode.  I  reckon 
the  Doctor  will  let  us  stay  here  to-day,  an'  we  can 
try  ergin  to-morrow  mornin'.  I  can  card  an' 
spin  a  couple  o'  broaches,  an'  the  chillern  can 
pick  up  chips  for  Hannah.  I  reckon  they'll 
mostly  sleep  all  day,  bein'  they  was  restless  all 
night  fo'  we  started." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Mrs.  Bangs  !"  said  the 
Colonel,  kindly,  "bring  your  children  to  the 
office.  You  shall  all  have  a  pleasant  day,  have 
a  good  rest,  and  get  off  at  daybreak  to-morrow." 

"Maybe  you  mout  come  with  us,  Cunnel," 
said  the  poor  woman.  "Them  steam  injines 
cert'nly  does  confuse  my  haid." 

And  so  he  did  !  He  not  only  treated  them 
with  courtesy  and  kindness  all  day  as  his  guests, 
—  wincing  only  when  they  amiably  used  his 
brushes, — but  he  went  with  them  all  the  way  to 
their  new  home,  and  never  left  them  until  they 
were  unpacked,  the  kitchen  fire  kindled,  and  gro 
ceries  brought  from  the  neighbouring  country 
store. 

"Mrs.  Bangs  cooked  us  a  capital  dinner,"  he 
reported  the  next  afternoon.  "  Stevens  was  im 
pressed.  When  I  left,  Mary  Jane  was  sitting  on 
the  little  porch,  in  a  blue  merino,  with  a  ribbon  in 


26  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

her  hair.  She  had  made  a  wonderful  silver  fringe 
with  Miss  Prissy's  pins  stuck  in  the  edges  of  her 
ribbons.  Stevens  evidently  admired  her.  I 
think  Dick  will  get  the  cold  shoulder  if  he  ever 
turns  up  at  the  mill." 

"Which  he  never  will !"  said  the  Doctor. 
"Dick  confided  to  Perkins  that  he  was  lost! 
There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but '  cut  and 
run.'  It  seems  he  had  never  really  meant  it  — 
never  even  thought  of  Mary  Jane  !  It  appears 
Mrs.  Bangs  is  imaginative.  We  must  be  kind  to 
poor  Mary.  She  has  her  limitations.  She  is 
not  a  success  as  a  match-maker.  However,  she 
can  try  again.  Stevens  will  be  better  material." 


CHAPTER  III 

BERKELEY  CASTLE,  now  the  residence  of  Dr. 
Charles  Berkeley,  had  been  built  by  an  immigrant 
from  the  English  family  of  Berkeley,  who  gave 
his  Western  home  the  name  of  the  famous  old 
Norman  fortress  and  baronial  hall  on  the  banks 
of  the  Severn,  known  to  be  haunted  by  the  ghost 
of  a  murdered  king.  "Castle"  was  not  consid 
ered  an  eccentric  or  over  ambitious  name  for  the 
home  of  a  Virginia  planter  —  was  not  "every 
man's  house  his  castle  ?"  —  nor  must  the  house 
thus  honoured  be  of  necessity  a  pretentious  one. 
A  plain  one-and-a-half-story,  dormer-windowed, 
frame  dwelling  in  a  neighbouring  county  was 
known  as  "The  Castle."  Then  there  was 
"Bacon's  Castle,"  and  "Castle  Hill" -- neither 
conspicuous  for  architectural  claims  to  distinc 
tion.  Dr.  Berkeley's  home  was  a  large  substan 
tial  building  of  brick,  with  a  pillared  portico,  to 
which,  on  either  side,  rooms  had  been  added  as 
the  Berkeleys  had  needed  additional  lodging  for 
friends  and  relatives. 

A  fine  avenue  of  poplars  led  from  the  main 

27 


28  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

road  to  Berkeley  Castle;  --  Lombardy  poplars, 
—  "the  tree,  let  them  say  what  they  will,  most 
fitting  to  surround  a  gentleman's  mansion." 
Chiselled  on  the  gate-post  at  the  entrance  to  the 
grounds  were  the  arms  of  the  good  Lord  Thomas 
Berkeley,  who  is  "commended  in  our  histories  for 
his  civil  usage  of  King  Edward  the  Second  when 
prisoner  in  Berkeley  Castle."  Time  had  not  yet 
obliterated  the  pious  motto,  "Dieu  avec  nous," 
nor  the  "ten  crosses  pattee"  commemorative 
of  the  services  of  the  family  in  the  Holy  War. 
Ten  times  had  the  Knights  of  Berkeley,  with  that 
motto  on  their  lips  as  their  battle-cry,  quitted 
themselves  like  men  in  deadly  conflict  under  the 
banner  of  the  Cross,  —  ten  times  had  their  king 
rewarded  them  by  granting  the  Holy  Emblem 
upon  their  own  shield.  The  story  was  told  to  the 
generations  as  they  came  and  passed.  Shirley 
had  learned  it  from  her  father,  and  little  Dorothea 
had  early  insisted  to  be  lifted  to  her  throne  on  the 
Colonel's  shoulder  that  she  might  trace  with  her 
chubby  forefinger  each  one  of  the  crosses,  re 
peating  the  formula  "Mine,  mine,  mine,"  with 
which  children  establish  a  claim  to  coveted  ob 
jects.  The  negroes  on  the  plantation  regarded 
the  sacred  shield  as  a  charm  against  evil.  The 
devil,  they  knew,  went  about  like  a  roaring  lion, 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  29 

seeking  whom  he  might  devour,  —  his  hoof-beats 
had  been  heard  in  the  main  road  on  dark  nights, 
—  but  no  one,  not  even  Uncle  Pompey,  who  was 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  and  who  was 
known  to  be  subject  to  "trances,"  had  ever  seen 
him.  The  country  people  no  longer  noticed  the 
suggestive  carvings.  Once  a  stone-mason  had 
paused  to  observe  the  proportions  of  the  gate 
posts  and  incidentally  the  chiselling,  and  had 
remarked  that  "  any  fellow  who  could  do  as  pretty 
a  piece  of  work  as  that  would  want  to  leave  his 
mark  upon  it." 

One  morning  in  June  Dr.  Berkeley  entered  the 
veranda  in  front  of  his  house  and  began  to  pace 
impatiently  back  and  forth.  His  saddled  horse 
was  awaiting  him  at  the  front  gate  beyond  the 
wide  gravelled  path  which  encircled  a  grass  plot 
bordered  with  flowers. 

:c  You'll  have  to  discipline  that  boy  of  yours, 
James,"  he  called  to  the  Colonel,  who  was  walk 
ing  slowly  among  the  flowers  which  bordered  the 
gravelled  circle.  "He  gets  later  every  day.  It 
has  been  fully  two  hours  since  the  cars  passed. 
He  can  walk  it  in  thirty  minutes." 

"He's  probably  playing  marbles  with  the  boys 
at  the  depot,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  an  alert  old  lady, 
at  the  door.  "As  James  has  taught  him  to  read, 


30  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

he  may  be  under  the  trees  reading  the  Richmond 
Whig." 

"Very  likely,  Aunt  Prissy  !  —  as  far  as  the 
marbles  are  concerned,  but  I  doubt  whether  Pi- 
zarro  cares  for  our  squabbles  over  the  Wilmot 
proviso,  or  for  the  Mexican  War,  or  the  gold- 
fever.  Bring  out  the  spy-glass,  Shirley  !" 

"Nowhere  in  sight!"  the  Doctor  announced 
after  sweeping  the  road  in  the  distance. 

"Why,  here  he  comes  at  the  back  way  !"  ex 
claimed  Miss  Prissy.  "Will  you  look  at  that 
boy  ?  He's  got  Flora  with  him  !  They've  been 
running  after  hares,  I'll  be  bound." 

"They  missed  the  hare!"  said  the  Doctor. 
"Look  at  Flora  !  Defeat  written  all  over  her, 
from  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  her  tail  !  Come 
here,  you  rascal !  What  do  you  mean  by  this 
behaviour,  —  hunting  hares  instead  of  coming 
straight  home  with  the  mail  ?" 

"I  never  hunt  no  ole  hyar,"  said  the  panting 
little  black  boy,  indignantly. 

"Come,  come,  Pizarro,"  the  Colonel  warned 
sternly,  "no  lies,  my  lad,  no  lies." 

"I  am'  tellin'  no  lie;  Gawd  know  I  ain'  see 
no  ole  hyar  dis  day." 

"Where  have  you  been,  then  ?" 

"Don't  question  him,  Charles  !     Don't  tempt 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  31 

him,"  said  the  Doctor's  gentle  wife,  who  with 
Dorothea  now  appeared  on  the  scene. 

The  child  threw  herself  on  the  floor  beside  the 
panting  dog  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck. 
"Poor  Flora  !  "  she  said  caressingly,  "you  don't 
tell  lies  !  You  couldn't  do  wrong  'less  Pizarro 
made  you,"  and  she  rolled  her  eyes  disdainfully 
at  the  little  black. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  culprit.  He  blub 
bered  out,  "  I  done  tole  the  truth !  Gawd 
A'mighty"  — 

"Stop,  Pizarro,"  his  mistress  commanded. 
"  Go  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  Hannah  to  send  break 
fast  in  right  away.  Wash  your  hands,  Dorothea. 
Look  at  your  clean  frock  !  All  stained." 

The  boy  drew  his  knuckles  across  his  eyes, 
and  as  he  departed,  looked  back  reproachfully 
at  the  party,  and  finished  his  sentence:  "Gawd 
A'mighty  know,  I  ain'  see  no  ole  hyar  to-day. 
^Twarrft  nuthirf  but  a  little  squir'l." 

But  everybody  was  now  gathered  around  the 
table  upon  which  the  Doctor  poured  the  contents 
of  the  mail-bag.  "Letters  for  you,  James  — 
some  for  me  —  one  for  Dorothea  -  -  some  for 
Shirley  —  Where  are  you,  Dolly  ?  Well,  Mary, 
you  must  take  her  letter." 

"Hawkins  usually  puts   in   a   note  for  me," 


32  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

added  the  Doctor,  as  he  turned  the  bag  inside  out. 
"Ah  !  here  it  is  !  What  a  fist  the  fellow  has  ! 
- '  Passengers  report  crops  suffering  for  want  of 
rain  all  along  the  road.  Large  crowd  going 
North.  Miss  Patty  Benson  boarded  the  cars 
with  Jerry  Wilson.  —  None  of  her  family  with  her. 
Looks  like  a  runaway  match.  No  other  news." 

"Hawkins  is  always  liberal  with  his  opinions," 
said  the  Colonel ;  but  just  then  Pizarro  appeared, 
endowed  with  a  snowy  apron,  and  gravely  an 
nounced,  "Brekfus  raidy, "  returning  immediately 
to  his  post  in  the  dining-room  behind  his  mistress's 
chair,  where  he  stood  like  a  Nubian  figure  at  an 
Egyptian  banquet,  waving  a  plume  of  peacock's 
feathers  to  drive  away  the  flies. 

The  Doctor  asked  a  blessing,  and  the  company 
was  about  to  be  seated  when  a  subdued  scuffle  was 
heard  at  the  door,  and  little  Dorothea's  pleading 
voice:  "Let  me,  Uncle  Isham,  oh,  let  me." 

"You  leetle  more'n  to  drap  it  last  time," 
the  grey-haired  butler  remonstrated;  but  the 
child  persisted.  The  Colonel  steadied  with  his 
arm  the  vacant  chair  beside  him,  and  helped  her 
as  she  climbed  up,  and  stretching  her  slight  little 
body  half  across  the  table,  carefully  placed  in  the 
centre  of  it  a  print  of  butter  crowned  with  a 
cream-white  rose. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  33 

"Ah  !  this  is  what  we  were  waiting  for,"  ex 
claimed  the  Doctor,  "and  worth  it,  too." 

"I  churned  it,"  Dorothea  gravely  announced, 
as  she  sank  contentedly  in  her  chair,  and  pushed 
the  hair  from  her  eyes. 

"Humph"  muttered  the  old  serving-man. 
"You  put  yo'  han's  on  the'dasher  jus'  one  minit'  ! 
Sis  Mandy  holler  to  me  to  make  you  come  in  the 
house.  You  sholy  did  pleg  her  !" 

"Never  mind,  Dolly  dear,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"We  believe  you,  and  so  does  Uncle  Isham.  The 
butter  is  fine,  and  the  rose  is  lovely,  —  and  you 
are  the  sweetest  little  housekeeper  in  Virginia." 

Just  here  Pizarro,  from  his  vantage-ground, 
announced  that  a  gentleman  was  coming  in. 
Everybody  rose  to  welcome  Mr.  Winn,  the  Pres 
byterian  minister,  and  make  a  place  for  him  at 
the  table. 

"I  rode  over  from  Mr.  Benson's,"  he  explained. 
"We  had  a  sunrise  wedding  there  this  morning, 
and  I  took  the  liberty  — " 

"Ah!"  interrupted  the  host,  "I  am  glad  to 
see  you.  The  depot  agent  just  volunteered  the 
suggestion  that  it  was  an  elopement." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !  I  went  with  young  Wilson  to 
get  his  license,  and  all  requirements  of  Church 
and  State  are  observed  and  satisfied.  Mr.  Ben- 


34  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

son  is  not  one  of  my  parishioners,  but  I  had  met 
Wilson." 

"Well,  we've  lost  our  pretty  girl,"  said  the 
Doctor,  as  he  uncovered  the  Sheffield  dish  and 
dispensed  the  broiled  chickens.  "I  shall  miss 
her !  I  met  her  late  yesterday  afternoon  near 
Miss  Betty  Oliver's.  A  very  fine  figure  on  horse 
back." 

"I  don't  think  I've  seen  her  a  dozen  times  in  as 
many  years,"  said  Miss  Prissy. 

"I  never  felt  that  I  knew  Benson  although  he 
has  been  my  neighbour  many  years,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "Whenever  I  have  seen  him  at  the 
post-office  or  court-house,  I  have  tried  to  be 
friendly  with  him,  but  meeting  no  response,  re 
pulse  rather,  I  finally  let  him  alone.  I  fear  he  is 
very  poor.  One  could  hardly  scratch  much  of  a 
living  out  of  that  worn-out  piece  of  land  he  moved 
on  twenty  years  ago." 

"I  never  saw  a  more  unapproachable  man," 
said  Mr.  Winn.  "As  I  am  here  only  two  Sab 
baths  in  the  month,  I  know  very  little  about  any 
one  outside  my  own  small  flock,  of  whom,  by  the 
bye,  your  Scotch  gardener  is  one." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley,  "it  ap 
pears  we  have  lost  an  opportunity.  A  lovely 
girl  has  grown  up  and  left  us  and  we  have 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  35 

done  nothing  for  her  happiness.  I  am  sorry. 
I  called  again  and  again,  but  my  visits  were 
not  returned." 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Aunt  Prissy,  "I  did  my  best. 
I  rode  over  when  Patty  was  about  ten  years  old 
—  and  begged  her  to  come  to  my  Sunday  school 
class.  She  came  only  once.  The  little  girls 
were  to  commit  a  verse  of  one  of  the  epistles  for 
the  lesson  that  day,  and  she  recited  hers  this  way  : 
1  Let  your  adorning  be  plaiting  the  hair,  and  wear 
ing  gold  and  putting  on  apparel.'  Of  course  the 
children  laughed  —  and  when  I  told  her  the  true 
words  of  the  apostle  and  asked  why  she  had 
omitted  the  'not,'  she  said  she  thought  it  must  be 
a  mistake  —  that  Saint  Peter  would  have  more 
sense  !  This  made  matters  worse,  —  she  left 
and  never  returned." 

The  Doctor  looked  distressed.  "This  miser 
able  reserve  and  pride  of  men  who  are  less  fortu 
nate  than  their  neighbours  is  to  blame  for  so 
much,"  he  said.  "I  often  wonder  what  we  can 
do  about  it.  There  seems  to  be  great  injustice  in 
it  —  especially  in  this  case.  Mr.  Benson  belongs 
to  a  good  family.  Peculiar  circumstances  placed 
him  where  he  is.  The  girl  lost  an  opportunity  for 
instruction  and  companionship  because  she  felt 
herself  out  of  her  element,  simply  because  her 


36  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

father  was  poor ;  —  as  if  riches  made  one  man 
differ  from  another." 

"Now,  Charles,"  his  aunt  said  impatiently, 
"for  gracious  sake,  let  all  that  alone !  It's 
the  same  all  over  the  world.  You  can  no  more 
do  anything  to  change  it  than  you  can  cure  old 
Mrs.  Ponsonby's  gout.  It  belongs  to  her  class. 
It  is  very  inconvenient,  but  there's  no  help  for  it, 
and  that  is  all  there  is  about  it." 

"Well,  I  can  at  least  try,  Aunt  Prissy."  The 
Doctor  sighed  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  "My  ! 
how  deliciously  those  mycrophylla  roses  smell  ! 
Cut  a  basketful  for  me,  James  !  Mrs.  Ponsonby 
has  no  roses  such  as  these." 

"How  you  do  spoil  that  old  lady  !  "  said  Aunt 
Prissy. 

"  So  I  do,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  She  manages  me 
to  suit  herself.  I  think  it  is  that  head-dress  she 
wears.  Nobody  could  deny  anything  to  a  stately 
old  dame  in  a  Letitia  Romolino  turban." 

Dorothea  had  slipped  from  her  seat  and  soon 
reappeared  in  her  little  pink  sunbonnet  and 
with  basket  and  scissors.  "Maybe  Andy  will 
give  us  some  rose  geranium  and  ice-cream 
flowers,"  she  said.  "He  gave  me  the  tea-rose  for 
the  butter." 

"She  means  heliotrope,"  explained  her  mother. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  37 

"It  has  a  strong  vanilla  perfume.  But  you 
mustn't  leave  us,  Mr.  Winn,  because  the  Doctor 
is  engaged  !  Spend  the  day  with  us." 

The  clergyman  elected,  after  a  brief  pastoral 
visit  to  the  Scotch  gardener,  to  ride  with  his  host ; 
and  the  family  separated  for  the  various  occupa 
tions  of  the  day,  —  Shirley  to  her  piano  practis 
ing,  Miss  Prissy  to  serious  preparations  for  mak 
ing  currant  jelly,  and  the  lovely  mistress  of  the 
mansion  to  her  cares  for  the  general  good. 
The  Colonel  summoned  Dorothea  to  a  writing 
lesson  under  the  trees,  moving  thither  a  small 
table  upon  which  she  placed  her  little  rosewood 
writing-desk,  a  recent  present  from  him,  given  to 
encourage  her  in  writing,  in  which  she  was  deemed 
deficient.  This  was  composition  day,  and  the 
little  maiden  felt  its  importance.  "Write  any 
thing  you  please,  dear,"  said  her  friend;  "write 
a  letter,  if  you  choose."  And  he  unfolded  the 
Richmond  Whig  and  prepared  to  read  confirma 
tion  of  his  own  political  views. 

"I  owe  a  letter  to  Tom  Blackwell,"  she  in 
formed  him ;  and  having  carefully  examined 
her  quill  pen,  and  presented  it  to  the  Colonel 
to  be  mended,  she  gravely  addressed  herself 
to  her  task.  After  much  thought  and  many 
pauses  she  looked  up  for  guidance.  "  I've  got 

443310 


38  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

as  far  as  'Dear  Tom  Blackwell  Cousin  James  is 
here.'" 

"You  open  very  well,"  the  Colonel  assured  her, 
and  she  continued  her  meditations  —  repeating 
every  few  minutes,  "  Cousin  James  is  here  — 
Cousin  James  is  here  —  Cousin  James  is  here." 

"And  sends  his  goodest  love  to  you,"  suggested 
her  aunt,  who,  sunbonneted  and  leather-gloved, 
was  on  her  way  to  the  garden. 

"Oh  !"  exclaimed  the  child,  "Tom  would  be 
shocked." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking  over 
the  top  of  his  paper,  "write  your  letter  just  as 
you  yourself  think  proper." 

After  much  thought  and  laborious  effort, 
Dorothea  offered  the  following  for  his  inspection, 
written  in  characters  in  various  stages  of  ine 
briation  and  abundantly  sprinkled  with  the 
fine  sand  from  her  tiny  "sand-box." 

DEER  TOM  BLAK  Q  u  E  DUBLE  L 

Cusin  James  is  heer  Flora  has  got  3  pupis.  Unc'l 
Isum's  Susan  has  got  2  Twins. 

Yore  fren, 

Dorothea. 

"Are  you  quite  clear  about  the  way  to  spell 
Blackwell  ?"  asked  the  Colonel. 


THE   COLONEL'S  STORY  39 

"Yes,  indeed;  Shirley  told  me  at  breakfast 
how  to  spell  'quell.'  I  knew  how  to  spell 
'black.'" 

"That's  sufficient !  There's  no  appeal  from 
Shirley,  now  she  is  a  young  lady." 

The  letter  was  carefully  folded,  sealed  with 
a  motto  wafer  with  a  romantic  sentiment,  and 
addressed  to  Mr.  Tom  Blackwell,  a  neighbour's 
son,  who  had  amused  himself  by  writing  to  the 
little  girl.  Dorothea  drew  out  her  coloured  beads 
and  proceeded  with  her  daily  work  on  a  neck 
lace  for  her  doll  Victoria.  The  Colonel  read 
silently,  and  finally  said,  by  way  of  conversa 
tional  interlude  and  apropos  of  an  item  in  the 
paper  :  "  How  would  you  like  to  be  the  Duchess 
of  Westminster  ? " 

"It  depends  on  who  is  the  Duke,"  the  child 
answered.  She  was  not  surprised  at  the  laugh 
that  followed.  She  was  accustomed  to  having 
people  laugh  at  her  remarks. 

After  a  while  her  companion  perceived  she  had 
dropped  her  beads  and  was  in  a  brown  study. 
Catching  his  eye,  she  inquired,  "What  does  a 
Duchess  do  ?" 

"Pretty  much  what  other  ladies  do,  I  imagine 
—  embroider,  play  on  the  harp  or  guitar  or 
piano,  and  see  company.  If  you  ask  me  what 


40  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

a  Duchess  has,  I  can  tell  you.  She  has  beautiful 
manners,  and  lives  in  a  castle  with  charming 
grounds  and  gardens ;  and  she  has  many  ser 
vants  and  horses  and  coaches ;  and  wears  vel 
vet  gowns,  and  a  beautiful  crown  of  strawberry 
leaves  made  out  of  diamonds." 

Dorothea  was  silent,  and  the  Colonel  turned 
over  his  paper  and  became  absorbed  in  a  glowing 
account  of  the  newly  found  treasure  among 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierras.  Presently  he  felt 
the  child's  touch  on  his  knee. 

"Is  there  obliged  to  be  a  Duke?"  she  asked 
earnestly. 

"  I'm  afraid  so.  —  There  must  have  been  a 
Duke  somewhere,  I  suppose ;  but  there  are 
Duchesses  without  any  Duke  at  all." 

"Well,  then  !  Why  can't  I  be  a  Duchess  ?  I 
live  in  a  castle  !  I  could  buy  'most  all  the  things, 
and  could  make  some.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  buy 
a  Duke  —  do  you  think  ?"  she  asked  wistfully. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  the  Colonel;  "I  will 
inquire  —  but  all  the  other  things  might  be 
bought.  You  see  you  have  —  usually  —  beau 
tiful  manners,  and  it  is  easy  to  make  believe  the 
Duke.  Don't  you  make  believe  your  doll  is  a 
Queen  ?  I  can  say  'Your  Grace'  when  I  speak 
to  you  and  bow  low  - 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  41 

"I  can  curchy,"  said  Dorothea,  eagerly,  giving 
him  an  illustration  of  the  fact.  "Mammy  is 
very  petickler  about  my  curchy.  She  makes 
me  do  it  in  the  nursery  before  I  come  in  the 
parlour  to  the  comp'ny." 

"That  is  fine  !  I  never  saw  a  better  curtsey. 
But  there  are  other  things.  A  Duchess  has  to 
be  very  kind  and  gracious,  and  not  contradict 
nor  interrupt  when  others  are  talking." 

"Pshaw,"  said  Dorothea,  "that's  easy! 
Mama  has  told  me  all  that ; "  but  the  Colonel 
proceeded  to  make  her  understand  that  a 
Duchess  has  certain  obligations  simply  from 
the  fact  that  she  is  a  Duchess  —  that  her  motto 
is  "Noblesse  oblige"  —  and  that  means  that  she 
is  called  upon  to  deny  herself  things  allowed 
humbler  people  and  be  at  all  times  high  and 
noble. 

Miss  Prissy  Berkeley  now  appeared,  coming 
through  the  garden  gate  with  her  arm  full  of 
long-stemmed  flowers.  "Look  what  I  got  from 
Andy!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  was  like  pulling 
his  eye-teeth.  You  may  put  me  in  my  cart, 
James,  if  you  like.  I  left  Milly  and  her  tribe 
gathering  currants.  No,  indeed,  Dorothea  ! 
They'll  do  it  quicker  without  your  help.  I'll 
drive  over  and  give  these  to  Betty  Oliver !  I 


42  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

like  Betty  !  She  and  I  are  the  only  old  maids 
in  the  county.  No,  no,  Dolly,  not  this  time ; 
the  sun's  too  hot.  Well,  then,  run  in  and  ask 
your  mother." 

"I  observe  I'm  not  invited  to  drive  you," 
said  the  Colonel. 

"No  men  around  when  Betty  and  I  forgather," 
laughed  the  old  lady. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  traduce  us  to 
each  other." 

"I  can't  justly  answer  for  Betty's  opinions 
of  men,  but  you  know  I  adore  them.  Not  that 
I  ever  professed  to  understand  a  man !  He 
remains  a  beauty  and  a  mystery  to  me.  -  -  Well, 
jump  in,  Dolly  !  I  knew  how  that  would  end  ! 
—  and,  oh,  James,"  as  she  took  the  reins  and 
trotted  off,  "tell  Isham  to  tell  Milly  not  to  do 
the  currants  until  I  come  back.  Get  up, 
Brandy!" 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  Colonel  stood  for  a  moment  watching 
the  cart  until  it  was  lost  under  the  poplars,  and 
then,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  slowly 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  gravelled  circle  in  front 
of  the  house.  Presently  he  paused,  threw  up 
his  fine  face,  and  listened.  Shirley  was  singing. 
There  was  nothing  impressive  in  her  song, 
nothing  to  warrant  the  Colonel  in  reverently 
bending  his  bared  head.  Shirley  was  only  prac 
tising  her  solfeggios,  running  up  her  scales  again 
and  again  from  the  middle  C,  a  tone  or  half  tone 
higher  each  time,  until  the  C  in  alt  rang  out, 
clear  and  pure.  A  moment  later,  she  appeared 
on  the  veranda,  discerned  her  listener,  and 
nodded  to  him,  disappeared,  and  returning  with 
her  work-basket  and  two  cushions,  joined  him 
under  the  trees. 

"Did  you  hear  me  sailing  in  the  high  seas  ?" 
she  asked,  as  she  seated  herself  and  tendered  a 
cushion  to  the  Colonel. 

"Indeed  I  did  !     But  you  did  not  sail  far." 

43 


44  THE  .COLONEL'S   STORY 

"Signer  Laperti  had  small  opinion  of  my 
voice  —  or  rather  he  thought  I  had  a  small 
voice.  But  he  liked  the  little  I  have.  'It  is 
ver  thin,  Mees  —  just  a  bit  of  gold  thread.  Do 
not  strain  it !  It  will  break'  -  -  and  so,  when  I 
found  that  high  C  in  it,  I  shut  it  up  at  once  and 
put  it  away  to  rest." 

Shirley  had  opened  her  basket  while  she  talked, 
and  extracted  from  its  depths  a  bit  of  muslin 
and  her  embroidery  apparatus.  The  Colonel, 
declining  the  proffered  cushion  for  himself, 
arranged  it  against  the  tree  at  her  back,  and, 
clasping  his  hands  around  his  knees,  seated  him 
self  at  her  feet,  Shirley  drawing  aside  the  ruffles 
of  her  white  muslin  gown  —  it  was  a  "spacious 
time"  in  women's  dress — to  make  room  for  him. 

"This  looks  like  old  times,"  he  said,  "and  I 
hope  it  means  morning  readings."  He  drew  a 
green  paper-covered  brochure  from  his  pocket. 
"The  last  instalment  of '  Dombey  and  Son '  !  But 
'twould  never  do  to  read  about  Paul  and  Florence 
without  Dorothea.  How  about  Tennyson  ?" 

"Oh,  we  had  him,  plenty,  at  school.  The 
girls  cried  quarts  over  him." 

"And  you  ?" 

"I  couldn't  care  for  him !  I  suppose  you 
know  who  is  responsible  for  my  taste." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  45 

The  Colonel  laughed  and  suggested  another 
recent  poet  who  had  just  written  the  immortal 
"Prelude." 

"Don't  let's  read  at  all,"  said  Shirley.  "Let's 
talk.  I  haven't  had  a  good,  long  talk  with  you 
since  I  came  home.  Don't  try  to  improve  my 
mind,  please.  It's  improved  until  I  don't  know 
it.  I  doubt  whether  I  have  any  left." 

"  I  suppose  things  seem  strange  after  the  New 
York  life." 

"They  do  —  a  little  —  but,  dear!  The  only 
trouble  is  I  don't  seem  to  have  anything  to  do,  — 
no  duties,  no  fixed  hours.  Mama  told  me  to 
embroider  a  cape  for  myself,  but  I  couldn't  stand 
that.  Capes  don't  interest  me  in  the  least,  so 
I  am  making  a  bretelle  apron  for  Dorothea." 

"Did  you  learn  that  at  school  ?"  asked  the 
Colonel.  "Tell  me  something  you  did  learn 
that  most  interested  you." 

"I  learned  to  be  calm  —  wasn't  that  some 
thing  for  a  Berkeley  to  learn  ?  We  were  drilled 
into  a  manner  all  repose.  We  were  not  to  be 
emotional  if  we  could  help  it ;  if  we  couldn't, 
we  must  be  silent.  We  were  not  to  exclaim 
or  be  superlative,  never  say  we  were  *  crazy'  for 
anything,  or  'dying'  for  our  dinner  even,  as 
we  always  were.  We  were  not  to  express  sur- 


46  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

prise ;  that  was  very  ungenteel  —  bourgeois. 
If  a  cannon  should  happen  to  explode  near  us, 
we  were  to  smile  with  gentle  acquiescence,  and 
remark,  'Yes!'" 

The  Colonel  threw  back  his  head,  and  broke 
through  all  Madame's  rules  with  a  hearty  peal 
of  laughter.  Shirley's  mimicry  was  delightful ! 

"Did  you  see  what  N.  P.  Willis  had  about  us 
in  the  Mirror?  " 

"Not  really?  How  did  Madame  Cheguery 
stand  that  ?" 

"  Madame  was  annoyed  —  but  calm.  She 
expressed  no  emotion.  It  wasn't  so  dreadful ! 
He  only  drew  a  rhyming  pen-picture  of  'A  Per 
fect  Lady  of  the  Present  Time'  under  some 
stupendous  disaster,  earthquake  or  tempest  or 
shipwreck  —  I  forget  which  :  — 

'  She  was  calm  as  the  sea  —  when  we  sail  in  June  — 

As  calm  as  the  stars  above  her ! 
Calm  as  a  Madame  Chegue'ry  girl  — 
Only  star-eyed  science  her  lover  ! ' ' 

The  Colonel  thought  this  a  most  excellent 
training,  as  exemplified  by  Shirley,  and  she 
continued :  — 

"We  were  to  be  extremely  modest  and  yet  not 
shy  —  shyness  was  not  at  all  comme  il  faut.  We 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  47 

were  never  to  'show  off'  our  learning  or  accom 
plishments." 

"Rely  altogether  upon  beauty?"  interrupted 
the  Colonel. 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no  !  Least  of  all  upon  beauty. 
I  had  been  pretty  well  drilled  by  Mammy ! 
'  Come  away  f  um  de  glass,  honey  !  You'll  spile 
yo'  complexion ; '  and  '  Pretty  ain'  nothin'  — 
'haviour  is  all  !  Pretty  is  as  pretty  does  !'  and 
then  Mama,  -  -  '  Don't  long  for  beauty,  my  dear  ! 
It  is  the  least  of  all  good  things.'  I  think  she 
and  Mammy  and  Madame  were  quite  right ! 
'Lovely'  means  so  much  more  than  'pretty." 

Shirley  paused,  and  spreading  her  muslin  on 
her  knee,  regarded  it  critically,  turning  her  head 
with  a  bird-like  motion,  to  examine  the  effect  of 
her  stitchery.  Her  listener  looked  at  her  in 
silence.  Never  had  the  value  of  beauty  been 
decried  by  more  beautiful  lips.  Never  had  calm 
repose  been  expressed  by  serener  eyes.  Her 
face,  he  thought,  seemed  actually  to  bloom  with 
thought  and  feeling.  The  poor  Colonel  found 
himself  at  a  disadvantage.  He  could  find  noth 
ing  to  say.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  sit  at 
her  feet  forever,  simply  hear  her  voice,  look  up 
into  the  depths  of  her  soft  eyes. 

They  were  certainly  troubled  eyes  at  the  pres- 


48  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

ent  moment.  After  turning  her  work  around 
several  times,  she  said  anxiously  :  "  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  this  morning-glory.  It 
doesn't  look  a  bit  natural." 

"Is  that  your  idea  of  a  morning-glory  ?" 

"Doesn't  it  look  like  one  to  you  ?  An  open 
morning-glory  and  a  bud !  There's  to  be  a 
spray  on  each  bretelle." 

"I  have  been  very  much  interested  in  it.  At 
first  I  thought  from  its  shape  it  might  be  a  pear, 
and  then  after  you  made  those  two  little  knots 
it  looked  more  like  a  toad.  I  am  quite  sure 
about  that  twisted  thing  !  That  is  a  very  good 
worm,  indeed." 

"Horrors  !  Why,  that's  a  closed  morning- 
glory  bud  !  Dear  me  !"  said  Shirley,  in  distress. 

But  the  Colonel  was  not  attending.  "The 
glory  of  the  morning,"  he  thought.  "She  per 
sonifies  it." 

However,  Pizarro  appeared  and  closed  the 
interview  by  announcing,  "Miss  Shirley,  yo* 
Mammy  say  you  mus'  come  right  in  out  de  sun," 
and  Shirley,  followed  by  the  Colonel,  immedi 
ately  obeyed. 

Miss  Betty  Oliver,  the  neighbourhood  dress 
maker,  fruit-preserver,  cake-baker,  and  gener- 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  49 

ally  useful  helper,  lived  in  a  small  brick  house 
a  little  off  from  the  road.  Extending  outward 
on  each  side  of  the  house  was  a  thick  privet 
hedge.  Her  little  porch  was  covered  with  morn 
ing-glories,  and  her  yard  was  enclosed  with  box. 
With  infinite  toil  and  patience  she  had  planted 
the  privet  hedge  years  before,  extending  it  to 
the  limits  of  her  small  domain  that  she  might 
conceal  her  kitchen  and  outhouses  from  trav 
ellers  on  the  public  road.  The  railroad,  however, 
had  defeated  her  plans  and  outraged  her  feelings. 
It  ran  in  a  curve  immediately  behind  her  prem 
ises,  and  Miss  Betty  had  the  anguish  of  knowing 
that  hundreds  of  eyes  from  the  car  windows 
daily  inspected  her  pig-pen,  her  garden,  her 
clothes-lines,  and  all  of  her  outhouses.  They 
passed  slowly  going  out,  and  slowed  up  on  the 
return  —  giving  ample  opportunity  for  the  grati 
fication  of  idle  curiosity.  Houses  soon  gathered 
around  the  depot,  and  the  place  began  to  assume 
the  dignity  of  a  village.  Hawkins,  the  depot 
agent,  had  brought  his  family ;  so  had  Perkins, 
the  storekeeper.  The  odour  of  fertilizers  filled 
the  summer  air,  conquering  the  perfume  of  her 
mock  orange  and  pinks  !  All  this  she  told  for 
the  hundredth  —  nay,  the  thousandth — time  to 
her  kind  listener. 


50  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"I  haven't  a  decent  petticoat  in  the  world,"  she 
declared.  "They  are  all  over  mildew  that'll  never 
come  out.  I  have  to  whip  my  things  off  the  lines 
in  a  hurry  when  I  hear  them  cars  comin',  and  by 
the  time  I  get  them  back  again,  here  comes  a 
train  from  the  other  direction.  Of  course  the 
clothes  lie  damp  and  mildew.  As  to  my  night 
gowns  and  shimmys,  I  never  hang  them  out  un 
til  night,  and  then  the  switchmen  walk  up  and 
down  with  lanterns  an'  often  as  not  there's  moon 
light.  I  did  ask  Hawkins  if  the  curtains  couldn't 
be  kept  down  my  side  when  the  trains  passed  my 
garden  —  and  he  said,  *  Certainly  —  and  we 
might  print  a  notice  on  large  cards  with  "Look 
the  other  way"  in  big  letters,  and  hang  it  up  every 
time  the  trains  go  out  and  come  in.'  Then  I  saw 
he  was  making  fun  of  me,  and  I  felt  too  insulted 
to  say  another  word  to  him.  I  was  willin'  to 
pay  for  the  trouble  about  the  curtains  and  pay 
lib'ral,  but  Hawkins  couldn't  see  his  way  to 
speak  to  the  conductors  about  it.  No,  Miss 
Prissy  !  I've  lived  a  decent  woman  with  good 
clothes  all  my  life,  and  a  decent  woman  I  aim 
to  die  —  but  the  good  Lord  knows  if  He  called 
me  to  go  this  minute,  you  wouldn't  find  a  white 
nightgown  to  put  on  me  while  my  shroud  was 
a-making." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  51 

"Ah  well,  our  Lord  would  never  look  at  the 
gown,"  said  Miss  Prissy.  "Try  not  to  think 
too  much  about  it.  Have  you  been  to  the  store 
for  your  paper  this  morning  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  never  go  there  !  I  send  for  my 
paper,  since  Hawkins  was  so  impudent.  I  don't 
mean  to  know  them  Perkinses  and  Hawkinses  ! 
I'll  pass  the  time  of  day  if  I  meet  'em  in  the  road, 
—  that's  my  Christian  duty,  and  that  I'll  do. 
And  I  won't  sew  for  'em  neither  !  I  say  —  and 
you  know  it's  the  truth,  Miss  Prissy  —  that  Mrs. 
Berkeley  gives  me  about  all  I  can  do." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  anxious  for  a 
diversion  from  the  worn  topic,  "maybe  you 
haven't  heard  that  Patty  Benson  was  married 
to  Jerry  Wilson  this  morning  ! " 

"  My  gracious  goodness  —  NO  !  Well  —  well  — 
well!  Of  all  the  close-mouthed  !  Why,  that  girl 
was  here  yesterday  evening  late,  for  me  to  fix  her 
brown  alpaca  !  It  sagged  to  one  side.  She  never 
said  a  word  about  anything  but  her  frock.  I 
remember  now  I  offered  to  take  off  the  facing  and 
skirt-braid  and  do  it  right,  but  she  said  no  —  she 
was  in  a  hurry  —  just  to  raise  it  from  the  belt. 
I  made  that  one  frock  as  a  special  favour.  I 
never  sew  for  that  family.  Indeed,  I'm  never 
asked  to." 


52  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  —  pressing  her  ad 
vantage,  and  steering  quite  away  from  the  scan 
dalous  behaviour  of  the  railway  cars,  —  "we  all 
feel  badly  at  the  Castle  because  we  have  not 
been  more  neighbourly  with  them.  Charles  is 
so  kind-hearted !  And  he  thinks  they  are 
poor." 

"Well,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Betty,  lowering 
her  voice  with  an  air  of  mystery,  "there  are  them 
that  says  they'd  be  as  rich  as  anybody  in  the 
county  if  they  had  their  rights.  Of  course  I 
never  talk  after  Mrs.  Dancey,  but  she  is  one  of 
the  few  women  who  visits  Mrs.  Benson  and  she 
says  —  " 

"  Sh  —  sh  !  for  goodness'  sake  !"  Miss  Prissy 
begged,  "don't  listen  to  Mrs.  Dancey!  Don't 
encourage  her  to  bring  up  that  old  story  and 
have  the  neighbourhood  stirred  up  again  over 
it.  It  was  settled  years  ago.  When  we  don't 
understand  the  rulings  in  such  cases,  we  may  be 
sure  we  don't  know  all  the  circumstances.  Very 
few  people  remember,  or  if  they  do,  they  are 
silent.  Charles  has  always  felt  the  greatest  sym 
pathy  for  Mr.  Benson." 

"Well,  don't  you  suppose  the  boys  know  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  decidedly, 
"  who  would  tell  them  ?  They  weren't  born 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  53 

when  it  happened.  If  they  knew,  they  would 
help." 

"They'd  better  not  offer  it !  He  isn't  poor. 
He's  just  terribly  proud  and  surly.  He's  been 
a  good  manager.  My  !  I  can't  get  over  that 
Patty  comin'  here  every  day  or  two  and  me 
lending  her  all  my  patterns.  Staid  to  supper, 
too,  last  night,  and  as  hearty  as  a  hunter.  Well, 
well  !  Strange  things  are  happening  these  days. 
Some  folks  think  it's  the  comet.  I  wonder  if  it 
is  !  If  my  poor  father  could  know  I  was  livin* 
here  with  a  railroad  runnin'  in  my  back  yard, 
and  them  Perkinses  and  Hawkinses  not  a  stone's 
throw  away  from  me  and  young  girls  marryin'  on 
the  sudden  like  that  —  he  would  turn  over  in  his 
grave." 

"Let  us  be  thankful  he  doesn't  know  it,"  said 
Miss  Prissy,  gently ;  and  Patty  Benson,  having 
served  her  purpose,  was  dismissed  for  friendly 
talk  about  the  latest  fashions  in  sleeves  as  ex 
hibited  in  Godey's  Magazine,  and  the  best 
method  of  sealing  currant  jelly  so  it  would  not 
granulate  nor  ferment.  Little  Dorothea  was  re 
called  from  the  garden  whither  she  had  been  sent 
to  gather  Calicanthus  —  "for  I  bet,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  "that  Scotchman  of  the  Doctor's  has  dug 
it  all  up  in  your  garden ;"  —  and  after  promises 


54  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

exacted  that  she  would  soon  come  to  help  Miss 
Shirley  get  ready  for  the  Springs,  and  after  much 
appreciation  on  Dorothea's  part  of  hot  buttered 
paste-cakes  and  preserved  raspberries,  Brandy 
was  relieved  of  an  hour's  struggle  with  the  flies, 
and  sent  trotting  homeward,  signalling  as  he 
neared  his  stable  to  his  comrade  in  harness, 
Soda,  and  receiving  unmistakable  assurances  of 
welcome  in  return. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  Miss  Prissy  and  Dorothea  reached  home 
after  their  visit  to  Miss  Betty  Oliver,  they  were 
met  at  the  gate  by  the  Colonel,  who  had  been 
waiting  for  them  half  an  hour  —  with  the  tidings 
that  company  had  arrived  to  "spend  some  time" 
—  which  might  mean  a  week  or  more,  as  further 
determined. 

"We  have  eight  in  all,  —  Mrs.  Carrington  and 
Miss  Elvira,  Rosalie  Henry,  Anne  Page,  Mildred 
Taylor,  Tom  Blackwell,  Douglas  Newton,  and  a 
fine-looking  fellow,  a  guest  at  the  Newtons', 
whose  name  I  don't  at  the  moment  recall." 

"Where  is  Mary  going  to  put  them  ?  You 
know  others  are  expected  any  day." 

"I  take  two  of  the  youngsters  to  my  quarters." 

"Then  where  am  I  to  go  ?"  wailed  Dorothea. 
"Where  will  I  say  my  lessons  when  it  rains,  and 
keep  my  cat,  and  roast  my  June  apples  ?" 

"Ah,  Your  Grace !  Where,  indeed !  But 
no  harm  shall  come  to  Gabriella  —  those  in 
truders  shall  treat  her  with  proper  respect  — 
and  June  apples  are  not  good  roasted." 

ss 


56  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Never  mind,  Dolly  dear,"  said  Miss  Prissy. 
"Company  or  no  company,  my  currants-  are 
gathered  and  must  be  attended  to.  I'll  need 
all  the  help  you  can  give  me.  Run  along  and 
tell  Milly  I  will  make  the  jelly  under  the  big 
tree  behind  the  kitchen.  Hurry,  Pizarro,  and 
put  the  charcoal  furnace  out  there  and  a  table 
and  chair  —  two  chairs.  Don't  wait  to  drive 
Brandy  to  the  stable ;  the  Colonel  will  attend 
to  him." 

The  Doctor  arrived  just  at  the  moment,  and 
considered  the  situation. 

"Mary  thinks  we  are  weak  in  beaux,"  he  said. 
"Newton  is  said  to  be  in  love  with  Anne  Page, 
Blackwell  is  certainly  engaged  to  Rosalie  — 
they'll  be  no  good  to  any  one  else,  and  there's 
Elvira  Carrington  and  Mildred  Taylor,  to  say 
nothing  of  Shirley.  It  is  well  we  have  you, 
James,  but  you  are  not  a  dancing  man." 

"Cousin  James  belongs  to  me,"  exclaimed 
Dorothea. 

"True  —  'belongs*  is  the  word!  But  Your 
Grace  might  lend  me.  Duchesses  sometimes 
lend  their  vassals  to  a  weaker  party." 

The  child  considered :  "Only  to  Aunt  Prissy, 
then!" 

"I  accept  him  with  pleasure,"  said  the  old 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  57 

lady.  "He  will  interest  me  very  much.  I  was 
his  mother's  bridesmaid." 

"  I  wish  you  would  jump  in  the  buggy,  James," 
said  the  Doctor,  "and  ride  over  to  Ridgely  and 
bring  the  Edmunds  boys  for  a  day  or  two. 
They've  slept  on  pallets  on  the  parlour  floor 
many  a  time  before.  So,  for  that  matter,  have 
Tom  and  Douglas.  There's  plenty  of  room,  even 
if  the  Taylors  and  Flemings  come,  as  we  expect." 

In  a  few  hours  the  house  was  full  of  gay  young 
guests,  and  humming  like  a  hive  of  bees.  Things 
quieted  down  in  the  afternoon,  —  the  young 
people  having  gone  forth  on  horseback  to  make 
a  visit  to  a  neighbour.  The  activities  of  the 
household  were  confined  to  the  rear,  and  all  was 
quiet  in  front.  At  sunset  the  gardener  appeared 
at  the  gate,  wheeling  a  barrow,  with  sprinkling- 
pot,  light  hoe,  shears,  and  trowel  —  his  own  coat 
neatly  folded  on  the  top.  He  was  a  quaint 
figure,  slow  and  deliberate  in  his  movements, 
but  his  rolled-up  shirt-sleeves  revealed  a  muscular 
arm,  and  his  face  expressed  keen  shrewdness. 
Like  many  persons  who  live  much  alone,  he  talked 
to  himself  as  he  worked  —  and  for  the  excellent 
reason,  which  is  often  given,  that  he  liked  to 
hear  a  sensible  man  talk. 

"A  hot  night,"  he  was  saying  as  he  deposited 


58  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

his  coat  in  the  cleft  of  a  tree.  "But  I'll  tak  nae 
chances  in  this  changefu'  climate."  He  then  pro 
ceeded  to  examine  the  choice  flowers  that  filled 
the  circle  enclosing  the  grass-plot  —  rid  them  of 
insects  and  carefully  water  them. 

"Eh!  what's  this?"  he  exclaimed  with  dis 
gust,  "the  vara  best  out-shoot  of  the  Luxemburg 
Rose  broken  !  The  hoof  of  a  Bull  o'  Bashan  ! 
I'se  warrand  it's  the  stranger  or  his  servitor. 
The  familiars  o'  the  family  frae  year's  end  to 
year's  end  hae  mair  sense." 

That  the  stranger's  negro  "servitor"  felt  an 
interest  in  flowers  was  soon  evident.  He  was  at 
that  moment  on  his  way  from  the  house  to  the 
lawn,  walking  with  a  jaunty  air  of  ease  and 
flourish,  bringing  into  play  all  the  muscles  of  his 
body.  The  gardener  quickly  recognized  him, 
and  concentrated  his  attention  upon  a  shrub  at 
his  feet.- 

"Good  evening,  Andy,"  said  the  new-comer, 
with  the  assured  manner  of  the  valet  of  a  man 
of  fashion.  As  he  received  no  sign  of  recognition 
he  repeated  in  a  louder  tone,  "Good  evening, 
Andy.  Good  evening !" 

"Oh,  guid  e'en,  guid  e'en  t'ye  —  whamever 
ye  be,"  replied  the  gardener,  without  looking 
up. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  59 

"I  prognosticated  you  would  not  know  me! 
I  am  valet  to  Mr.  Frederick  Blake  and  —  " 

The  gardener  raised  his  head  as  if  to  see  who 
spoke  to  him,  touched  his  Scotch  cap  with  a 
mock  show  of  respect,  and  bowed  low. 

"An5  are  ye  a'  that  ?  I  dinna  ken  rightly  the 
meaning  o'  *  valet.'  It's  maybe  a  running  foot 
man,  or  summat  atween  a  boot-black  and  a  gentle 
man's  gentleman  ?  What  might  be  your  name 
noo?" 

"My  name  ?  To  you  my  name  is  Mr.  Napo 
leon  Johnson,  called  'Nap'  by  my  master,  for 
short." 

"An'  to  ye,  my  name  is  Mr.  Angus  Macgilli- 
cuddy,  called  'Andy'  by  my  young  leddy  and 
ithers  to  wham  I  give  the  preevilege.  Body  an' 
saul,  mon,  what  are  ye  doing  ?"  for  Mr.  Napoleon 
Johnson  in  his  confusion  had  picked  up  the  sprin 
kling-pot  and  was  using  it  on  the  border-flowers. 

"Now  ye  have  wat  the  Dianthus  while  it  was 
all  het  up  with  the  sunshine  !  It'll  be  as  black 
as  yer  ain  —  God  forgie  me  !  Awa'  wi'  ye  to 
yer  valeting  !  The  suner  the  mair  fitting  !  I'll 
not  compleen  to  lose  ye  !" 

Thoroughly  discomfited,  the  intruder  put  down 
the  watering-pot,  giggling,  and  relapsed  into  the 
vernacular.  "He,  he  !  What  does  de  pinks  do 


60  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

when  it  rains  ?  Does  dey  hist  umbrellas,  an'  does 
you  stan'  by  an'  hole  'em  over  'em  ?" 

With  this  parting  shot  he  turned,  and  ambled, 
crestfallen,  to  the  house. 

The  gardener  put  his  hands  on  his  hips  and 
grinned  as  he  looked  after  him.  "He  maybe  is 
no  a  bad  lad  after  a'  said,"  he  reflected.  "  Forbye 
his  black  skin,  he  may  be  guid  aneugh  for  his 
station.  An'  if  his  master  can  thole  his  ways  an' 
manners,  Angus  has  na  call  to  compleen.  Am 
tauld  they're  no  Papishers  —  thae  blacks.  The 
creature  Isum  an'  his  women  are  Baptists. 
There's  ne'er  a  Roman  amang  them.  Sae  I'll 
e'en  put  up  wi'  him  as  I  put  up  wi'  sae  muckle 
from  the  family -- breaking  great  boughs  an' 
branches  o'  roses  when  a  short  stem  wad  be 
mair  mensefu',  and  never  leaving  a  bloom  on  the 
bush  half  a  day  in  garden  or  greenhouse.  As  to 
the  fruit,  weel !  weel !  They  are  a  fasheous 
bargain,  these  Southron  leddies,  —  calling  for 
peers,  plums,  an'  apples  summer  an'  winter.  It's 
weel  ken'd  that  Adam's  rib  loves  apples  —  Gude 
help 'em!" 

But  the  twilight,  delicious  but  damp,  was  at 
hand,  and  he  hastened  with  his  work.  Presently 
the  riding  party  appeared  in  the  avenue,  Shirley 
and  the  new  guest  at  their  head.  Slipping  lightly 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  61 

from  her  horse,  she  called  out  cheerfully:  "Ah, 
Andy !  See  !  I  did  not  forget  you  !  I've 
brought  you  the  '  emblem  dear'  —  " 

"'Symbol,'  my  young  leddy,  —  'I  turned  the 
weeding  clip  aside,  and  spared  the  symbol  dear.' ' 

"Et  tu,  Brute,"  laughed  the  girl,  as  she  gave 
him  a  fine  thistle  bloom,  which  he  promptly 
fastened  in  his  Scotch  cap,  —  "With  Papa  in  the 
house  and  Andy  in  the  garden,  I  shall  probably 
learn  to  talk  after  a  while." 

"May  you  have  a  better  teacher  than  either," 
replied  her  escort,  lowering  his  voice  with  a 
meaning  look  that  called  for  a  blush  as  he  ex 
pected,  and  meeting  only  an  expression  of  abso 
lute  unconsciousness.  Madame  Cheguery's  pu 
pil  did  her  credit. 

The  gardener  looked  after  them  and  shook 
his  head.  "Anither  clan  a'thegither,"  he  mur 
mured,  and  began  to  collect  his  dibbles,  hoes, 
and  watering-pot.  But  the  new  guest  had 
turned  at  the  door  and  was  forging  down  the 
walk  at  a  rapid  pace,  —  going  out  for  a  short 
"constitutional"  before  dressing  for  the  evening. 
Reaching  a  spot  opposite  the  gardener,  —  he 
had  followed  the  path  on  the  other  side  of  the 
circle, — he  thrust  a  hasty  hand  into  his  breast 
pocket  and  drew  out  his  handkerchief  and  a 


62  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

small  silver  match-box.  Pausing  a  moment 
and  hollowing  his  hands  over  the  flame,  he 
lighted  a  cigar,  threw  away  the  match,  and 
strode  on.  He  had  passed  through  the  gate 
when  a  thin  thread  of  smoke  arrested  Andy's 
attention. 

"Body  an'  saul !  the  daft  skellum!"  he  ex 
claimed  in  great  wrath.  "Threw  his  de'il's  fire 
right  into  the  heart  of  the  rosa  Devoniensis  ! 
May  the  foul  fiend  —  Eh  !  what's  this  ?  a  bit 
paper  oot  o'  his  pocket  —  H'm  !"  and  stroking 
his  chin,  he  looked  thoughtfully  at  a  rose-coloured 
billet  which  he  picked  up  from  the  border. 
Raising  it  cautiously  to  his  nose,  he  inhaled  its 
delicate  perfume.  With  the  subtle  odour  tempta 
tion  sought,  found,  and  floored  poor  Andy ! 
He  wiped  his  hand  on  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt  and 
unfolded  the  missive.  A  dry  smile  broke  over 
his  features. 

"Oh,  the  snares  and  temptations  o'  this  wicked 
world  !  The  de'il's  work  is  ower  a',  and  - 
but  glancing  down  the  avenue  he  perceived  the 
stranger  returning.  Reaching  hastily  for  his 
coat,  he  slipped  the  note  into  a  pocket,  and  then 
leisurely  proceeded  to  pull  down  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  don  the  outer  garment. 

"Good-evening,  my  good  man  !     May  I  look 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  63 

into  your  bushes  a  moment  ?  You  didn't  happen 
to  see  a  small  bit  of  paper,  did  you  ?" 

Andy  could  not  tell  a  lie.  He  proceeded 
slowly  to  fill  his  barrow  with  his  tools,  and  as 
he  lifted  the  handles  to  move  off,  said  quietly, 
"Ye  may  look  and  welcome,  sir  !  I  maun  be 
ganging  in  to  pit  my  aims  under  cover,  —  or 
I'd  be  blithe  to  help  ye.  I'll  stop  e'en  now  if 
ye  hae  lost  siller  or  value." 

"Not  at  all  !  Only  a  small  bill  for  news 
papers  at  your  little  store  yonder.  I  guess  my 
man  will  send  another.  It's  of  no  consequence 
whatever." 

The  gardener,  as  he  passed  along  the  path  on 
the  outside  of  the  yard-paling,  could  see  the 
searcher  busy  among  the  shrubs  all  around  the 
yard.  Shaking  his  head  from  time  to  time,  he 
reached  the  little  house  allotted  to  him  near  the 
garden.  Once  within  it,  his  tools  cleansed  and 
put  away,  and  his  frugal  supper  of  oaten  cake 
and  "kail-brose"  eaten,  he  addressed  himself 
to  his  evening  task  of  introspection  and  religious 
reading,  as  prescribed  in  his  early  days  by  the 
Scottish  kirk.  He  recalled  the  incident  of  the 
evening,  and  carefully  re-read  the  note.  "I 
misdoubt,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  hae  been 
guided  according  to  my  folly.  Instead  of  hale- 


64  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

some  and  godly  meditation  at  the  sma'  hour  o' 
the  sunset  —  whilk  sud  remind  us  of  our  latter 
end-- I  forgather  with  a  black,  wha  hasna  a 
glisk  o'  sense;  and  listen  to  his  fule  clinkum- 
clankum.  And  the  de'il,  going  aboot  like  a 
roaring  lion  seeking  wham  he  may  devour,  pits 
a  bonny  bit  letter  anent  my  hand,  and  gars  me 
read  it  and  keep  it.  I  suld  hae  been  dubious 
o'  opening  it  till  I  had  gaen  through  the  e'ening 
worship.  But  it's  a'  dune  now,  and  canna  be 
helpit.  I  doubt  I  maun  gang  oop  to  the  hoose 
and  gie  him  his  ain.  He'll  maybe  hae  the  sense 
to  reecognize  my  honest  service." 

Just  then  the  high  notes  of  a  fine  tenor  voice 
floated  through  the  open  window.  He  was 
accustomed  to  the  evening  sounds  of  guitar  or 
piano,  and  often  listened  to  the  singing,  but 
something  in  this  strain  angered  him. 

"He's  a  wild  lad  that,  and  hasna  the  right  to 
sing  his  fule  sangs  to  my  young  leddy.  I  mis 
trust  no  guid  will  come  o'  his  veesit.  Na,  na, 
Andy  !  It's  nowt  thy  duty  to  gie  him  his  light- 
o-luve  letter  !  Keep  it,  lad  !  It  may  be  called 
upo'  to  rise  in  judgment !  Wha  be  ye  to  resist 
the  Almighty,  and  refuse  to  be  a  rod  in  his  hand 
to  smite  the  evil-doer  ?  " 

Thus  having  determined  the  line  of  his  duty, 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  65 

the  gardener  finished  the  exercises  of  the  hour, 
by  reading  in  a  volume  of  dry  controversial 
divinity ;  and  then  shutting  out  the  convivial 
sounds  from  the  house,  he  commended  himself 
to  the  God  of  his  fathers,  and  his  tired  body  was 
soon  as  fast  asleep  as  his  conscience. 


CHAPTER   VI 

EARLY  next  morning  Shirley,  looking  in  her 
pink  muslin  gown  as  if  made  out  of  roses,  left 
her  bedroom,  and  passing  through  the  central 
hallway,  entered  the  long  veranda  in  the  rear 
of  the  house.  She  might  well  pause  to  admire 
the  scene  before  her.  The  garden,  enclosed  by 
a  hedge  of  box  trimmed  to  simulate  a  twisted 
rope,  descended  in  shallow  terraces  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  and  fringed  with  flag  and  iris  a  stream 
which  shone  in  the  morning  sun  like  a  ribbon  of 
silver.  Beyond,  the  ground  rose  again  —  cov 
ered  at  its  foot  with  thick  reeds  and  grasses, 
which  halfway  up  lost  themselves  in  the  woods. 
Nearer,  she  could  discern  the  box-bordered 
crescents,  stars,  and  serpentine  hedges  of  the 
formal  English  garden,  the  tall  crepe  myrtles, 
the  climbing  roses  on  the  central  "summer- 
house"  of  latticework,  and  the  arch  of  yellow 
jessamine  that  spanned  the  entrance.  Every 
blade  of  grass  at  her  feet  held  a  diamond.  The 
flowers  bent  their  heads  under  the  heavy  dew  — 
to  lift  them  later  in  renewed  beauty.  Over  all, 

66 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  67 

the  splendid  morning  sun  poured  its  golden  rays. 
The  girl  saw  and  appreciated  it  all  —  and  as  she 
stood  she  drew  long  breaths  of  freshness,  sweet 
ness,  and  perfume. 

She  had  tied  an  ample  muslin  apron  over  her 
gown,  and  now  turning  up  the  lace-trimmed 
edges  of  her  flowing  sleeves,  she  proceeded  to  the 
end  of  the  long  veranda  where  a  basket  of  flowers 
had  been  placed  on  a  table,  together  with  a  row 
of  bowls  and  vases  of  china  and  crystal.  She 
was  examining  the  flowers  thoughtfully,  when 
a  handsome,  dark-eyed  young  man  appeared  at 
the  door  of  the  hall  and  walked  rapidly  down 
the  veranda,  exclaiming,  with  a  radiant  smile, 
"Proserpine  amid  the  flowers  —  herself  a 
fairer  — ' 

"Ah,  Douglas  !  Good  morning  !  Isn't  it  a 
lovely  day  ?  I  think  Anne  will  be  down  some 
time  in  the  course  of  human  events." 

"Meanwhile  I  might  help  you  fill  your  vases  ?" 
"I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl,  considering, 
with  averted  head.  "Probably  you'll  see  a  fine 
rose  at  the  bottom  of  the  basket, — lovely 
enough  for  Anne,  —  and  you'll  ruin  all  the  others 
as  you  drag  it  out." 

"No,  no,  I  promise,  honour  bright." 

"Or  you'll  fall  to  dreaming  about  somebody 


68  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

who  is  expected  every  minute,  and  you'll  put 
purple  heliotrope  and  crimson  geraniums  to 
gether  in  the  same  vase.  It  is  positively  against 
all  rules  to  mix  colours." 

"At  least  perhaps  I  may  be  permitted  to  pour 
out  the  flowers  on  the  table  so  you  can  select 
better,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  the  basket,  "and  I 
might  even  be  allowed  to  take  off  all  the  thorns 
and  hand  the  roses  to  you  to  arrange." 

"It  hurts  roses  to  be  handled!  They  can't 
bear  it !  They  want  all  the  dew  left  on  them 
as  long  as  possible.  And  besides,  Anne — " 

"Now  look  here,  Shirley  !  Are  you  going  to 
keep  this  up  ?  If  you  are,  I  shall  order  my  horse 
directly  after  breakfast  —  or  before." 

"A  thousand  pardons,  Douglas  !  Help  me 
arrange  my  flowers  if  you  want  to.  I  am  quite 
willing  Anne  should  have  the  prettiest.  Indeed, 
I'll  help  you  to  find  it.  By  the  bye,"  she  added, 
"what  is  your  taste  in  boutonnieres  ?" 

The  young  fellow's  face  brightened.  "Oh, 
thank  you  !  I  like  a  geranium  leaf  and  a  red 
red  rose." 

"That  is  very  beautiful.  But  don't  you  think 
a  pink  carnation  would  suit  Mr.  Blake's  blue 
eyes  better." 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  her  companion,  coldly. 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  69 

—  "The  pink  carnation  by  all  means  !  But 
why  are  you  laying  aside  those  curious  pink 
flowers  ?  Are  all  of  them  for  '.Mr.  Blake's  blue 
eyes  ?" 

"These?  This  is  the  Dicentra  Spectabilis  — 
bleeding-hearts.  They  make  a  lovely  hanging 
basket,  with  their  drooping  stems.  There's  a 
hook  in  the  library  window  expressly  for  a  hang 
ing  basket  —  and  dear  knows,  these  would  be 
appropriate  !  There  are  plenty  of  bleeding  hearts 
represented  on  the  book-shelves.  What  are  you 
doing,  Douglas  ?  Cutting  my  bleeding-hearts 
to  pieces  ?" 

"Only  shortening  a  stem  for  my  own  bouton- 
niere.  But  I  interrupt  you.  Your  carnation  is 
a  great  success.  Accept  my  congratulations  !" 

He  fastened  his  "bleeding-heart"  in  the  lapel 
of  his  coat,  and  excusing  himself  with  a  cold 
bow,  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  veranda. 

Shirley  was  pained  and  surprised.  She  looked 
at  him  as  he  strode  along,  and  had  he  looked 
back,  would  have  recalled  him.  She  was  vexed 
with  herself  for  having  taken  a  liberty  with  him, 
and  trifling  perhaps  with  feelings  he  held  sacred. 
Engagements  were  jealously  concealed  in  Vir 
ginia  at  that  day,  but  nobody  seemed  to  doubt 
that  he  was  in  love  with  Anne  Page  any  more 


70  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

than  that  Tom  Blackwell  was  engaged  to 
Rosalie.  "He  might  at  least,"  thought  Shirley, 
"have  confided  in  me.  Why  should  he  avoid 
me  as  he  has  done  this  summer?"  She  shook 
her  head  regretfully,  and  felt  she  had  made  a 
bad  beginning  of  the  day.  She  continued  her 
task  mechanically  until  her  vases  were  all  full, 
and  calling  Minerva,  directed  where  they  should 
be  placed  on  mantels  and  pier-tables,  sending  a 
bowl  with  the  finest  roses  to  the  breakfast  room, 
and  slipping  the  boutonniere  of  pink  carnations 
into  her  pocket. 

In  warm  climates  the  cream  of  the  day  is  the 
early  morning,  and  few  are  willing  to  lose  it  in 
bed.  All  nature  seems  refreshed  and  jubilant. 
The  birds  are  in  ecstasy  —  robin,  lark,  and 
thrush  pouring  out  their  paeans  of  praise  and 
gratitude,  and  the  tuneful  tiny  wrens  —  all  song 
and  no  body  —  almost  splitting  their  little 
throats  with  joy.  The  guests  at  Berkeley  Castle 
responded  promptly  when  breakfast  was  an 
nounced,  —  all  except  Douglas  Newton,  who 
entered  later  and  took  the  vacant  chair  beside 
Anne  Page,  which  seemed,  by  tacit  agreement, 
to  be  left  for  him.  Glancing  around  the  table, 
he  perceived  that  Shirley  had  seated  herself 
on  one  side  of  the  Colonel  —  Dorothea  was  on 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  71 

the  other  side  —  and  displayed  in  the  Colonel's 
buttonhole  was  the  fine  pink  carnation  ! 

"A  sight  for  sair  e'en,  Cousin  Ellen,"  said  the 
Doctor  to  Mrs.  Carrington  at  his  right  hand. 
"The  beautiful  girls  and  the  bowl  of  roses  ! 
Don't  you  think  Shirley  looks  like  her  mother  ?" 

His  friend  smiled,  but  shook  her  head. 

"Too  much  Berkeley  ?  I  am  afraid  so.  But 
the  Berkeley  nose  on  Shirley  doesn't  seem  to  me 
a  bit  too  high." 

"Shirley  is  perfect,  exquisite,"  said  Mrs. 
Carrington.  "I  think  most  people  would  con 
sider  her  more  beautiful  than  her  mother  at  her 
age  —  but  Mary,  you  know, —  Mary  Blair  was 
angelic  —  ineffable." 

"Well  —  I  only  hope  my  girls  will  be  half  as 
good  as  their  mother !  See !  She  knows  we 
are  talking  about  her.  My  coffee,  please,  Mary, 
after  Mrs.  Carrington  !  You  young  people  must 
indulge  me.  I  must  hurry.  Old  Mrs.  Ponson- 
by's  man  was  here  at  day-dawn.  The  old  lady 
imagines  she  is  worse.  No  doctor  needed  here 
-  that  is  evident !  You  must  all  have  a  pleas 
ant  day  and  don't  wear  out  your  voice,  Mr. 
Blake,  before  I  return  !  I  shall  ask  for  some  of 
your  fine  music  this  evening.  Let  me  speak 
to  you  a  moment,  James  ?" 


72  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"What  is  it,  Charlie  ?  Anything  for  me  to 
do  ?"  asked  the  Colonel,  at  the  front  door. 

"I  wish  you  would  find  out  what  ails  Douglas 
Newton.  He  looks  pale  and  miserable.  I  par 
ticularly  wish  him  to  enjoy  his  visit  here." 

"Lover's   quarrel   with   Anne,   perhaps." 

"They  may  have  quarrelled,  for  aught  I  know 
to  the  contrary,  but  it  looks  like  chills  to  me. 
He  might  have  an  ague  before  I  return.  You 
will  find  quinine  powders  in  the  office.  The  jar 
is  labelled.  Dose  him  pretty  liberally  all  the 
morning;  'twon't  hurt  him." 

Returning  to  the  breakfast  room,  the  Colonel 
found  that  Dorothea  had  become  the  centre  of 
attraction.  Rosalie  had  leaned  across  the  table 
and  said,  "  I  understand,  Dolly,  that  you  corre 
spond  with  Mr.  Blackwell." 

"He  wrote  to  me  first,"  said  Dorothea,  apolo 
getically. 

"Ah  !     I  hope  his  letter  was  interesting  ?" 

"He  didn't  tell  me  anything;  Cousin  James 
said  it  was  just  a  love-letter.  Did  he  ever  write 
to  you,  Cousin  Rosalie  ?" 

"To  me  ?    Well  —  occasionally  —  yes." 

"Then  you  know  the  kind  of  love-letters  he 
writes,"  said  Dorothea,  dismissing  the  subject, 
and  buttering  her  muffin. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  73 

"Tell  me  what  kind  you  wrote  to  him,"  said 
Rosalie. 

Mr.  Blackwell  hastily  essayed  to  interpose, 
but  Dorothea  answered,  "Oh,  I  wrote  him  a  very 
intrusting  letter  indeed !  I  told  him  all  the 
family  news  -  -  I  mean  about  Flora's  family  and 
Uncle  Isham's  Susan,"  adding,  as  she  perceived 
amusement  on  every  face  except  Rosalie's  and 
Mr.  Blackwell's,  "Cousin  James  said  I  must 
excuse  Tom,  because  he  is  so  young.  You  won't 
write  love-letters  when  you're  older,  will  you, 
Tom?" 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  me,  Dolly!"  But 
just  then  the  Colonel  entered,  and  Dorothea, 
feeling  that  he  always  understood  her,  nestled 
to  him  and  proceeded  comfortably  with  her 
breakfast,  without  further  interest  in  Mr.  Black- 
well  or  his  letters.  She  knew  that  young  people 
rarely  talked  to  her  seriously  and  sensibly,  as  her 
Cousin  James  always  talked.  She  was  simply  a 
"medium"  through  which  they  communicated 
with  each  other  —  and  this  always  embarrassed 
her.  So  when,  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Blackwell  put 
his  arm  around  her  and  began  to  complain  of 
her  unkindness  and  demand  indemnity  therefor, 
she  was  fully  aware  he  had  some  ulterior  motive. 

"To  think,  Dolly,  you  should  go  back  on  me  in 


74  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

this  way  and  before  everybody,  too  !  And  I  had 
just  learned  such  a  lovely  little  boy's  song  to 
teach  you  !  All  about  a  little  girl,  too,  and 


now 

M 


And  now,"  said  Rosalie,  "you  are  to  teach  us 
girls,  great  and  small,  your  song  —  I  dote  on  chil 
dren's  songs.  Come,  Little  Boy  Blue,  and  'blow 
me  your  horn  ' !" 

Dorothea  was  silent.  She  waited,  knowing  she 
would  get  the  song  without  committing  herself 
to  further  complications,  and  Mr.  Blackwell 
chanted  in  a  low  tone  :  — 

"  Pretty  little  Pink,   I    used  to  think,  that   you  and   I 

would  marry, 

But  now  I  have  no  hopes  of  you,  I  can  no  longer  tarry. 
I'll  put  my  knapsack  on  my  back,  my  musket  on  my 

shoulder  — 

And  march  away  to  Mexico,  and  be  a  gallant  soldier. 
There  money  grows  on  white  oak  trees  —  the  rivers  flow 

with  brandy, 
The  streets  all  paved  with  ginger-cakes  —  the  girls  all 

sweet  as  candy." 

"Fine fellow,"  said  Rosalie ;  "a  brave  thing  to 
do  —  especially  now  that  all  the  fighting  in 
Mexico  is  over." 

"He  had,  at  least,  the  impulses  of  a  patriot," 
Tom  protested.  "He  was  willing  to  give  his  life 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  75 

for  his  country.  What  was  his  life  worth  to  him  ? 
The  lady  he  loved  had  been  unkind." 

"No,  no!"  exclaimed  Dorothea,  earnestly. 
"It  was  not  at  all  for  love  of  the  pretty  lady  ! 
He  was  going  to  Mexico  to  get  the  money  and 
brandy  and  ginger-cakes." 

"True,  Dorothea,  perfectly  true,"  said  Rosalie. 
"  If  she  had  been  kind,  he  would  have  remained 
comfortably  at  home  and  allowed  other  men  to 
do  his  fighting  for  him.  He  should  have  gone  all 
the  sooner  had  she  been  kind  —  gone  for  her 
sake.  Don't  you  think  so,  Dolly  ?" 

But  Dorothea  did  not  know  just  what  to  say. 
Her  friend  Tom,  she  perceived,  was  at  a  disad 
vantage,  and  she  was  sorry  for  him.  She  would 
not  commit  herself.  Still  there  was  "Cousin 
Rosalie"  to  be  considered.  She  had  heard  much 
discussion  about  the  Mexican  War,  in  which  she 
was  keenly  interested,  and  she  proudly  remem 
bered  that  General  Scott  was  a  friend  of  the  family, 
—  had  been  her  father's  "best  man"  in  fact. 
Doubtless  Rosalie  had  the  best  of  the  discussion. 
One  thing  was  clear  :  everybody  should  have 
helped  in  time  of  war.  She  hastened  to  vindicate 
the  Colonel. 

"Cousin  James  would  have  gone  for  the  sake 
of  a  dear  lady,"  she  explained,  "but  you  see  he 


76  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

didn't  have  one.  I  was  very  little  then.  He 
knew  about  a  lovely  lady  once,  but  she  was  not 
his  lady." 

"Ah  !  Are  we  quite  sure  it  was  not  his  lady  ? " 
Tom  asked,  "and  was  there  a  war  in  her  day  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dorothea,  "and  she  wanted  her 
lover  to  stay  with  her,  but  he  went  to  the  wars 
because  he  thought  her  friend  should  be  brave 
and  noble.  He  said, '  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear, 
so  much,  loved  I  not  honour  more." 

Tom  clapped  his  hands  in  triumph.  "Thank 
you,  Dolly  !  If  my  memory  serves,  he  went  to 
the  war  and  was  captured  and  imprisoned,  and 
when  he  returned,  the  fair  Lucasta  had  married  a 
man  who  staid  at  home.  That  settles  it !  If 
you  leave  the  lady  a  minute,  you  lose  her." 

"Now  what  are  you  puzzling  my  little  duchess 
about  ?"  said  the  Colonel,  as  he  drew  up  a  chair 
and  lifted  Dorothea  to  his  knee.  The  child 
threw  an  arm  around  his  neck  and  was  about  to 
explain,  when  he  raised  his  hand  for  silence. 
The  "small  voice,  the  thread  of  gold  !"  Shirley 
was  singing  to  her  guitar  under  the  trees,  her 
guests  around  her :  — 

"Youth  must  with  Time  decay  — 
Beauty  must  fade  away." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  77 

The  Colonel  smiled,  but  his  face  grew  grave 
with  feeling  at  the  next  words  :  — 

"  Castles  are  sacked  in  war  — 
Chieftains  are  scattered  far  — 
Truth  is  a  fixed  star ! " 

"Isn't  it  'Love'  in  the  song?"  said  Tom, 
'"  Love  is  a  fixed  star  '  ?" 

''They  are  one  and  the  same,"  said  the  Colonel, 
as  he  put  Dorothea  from  his  knee,  and  went  with 
her  to  find  Douglas  Newton. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Rosalie,  "I've  a  notion 
that  Colonel  Jones  has  had  a  desperate  love  affair 
in  his  youth  !  Did  you  notice  his  uplifted,  far 
away  look  ? " 

"His  memory  must  be  good  if  he  recalls  it," 
Mr.  Blackwell  opined.  "Why,  he  cannot  be  a 
day  less  than  thirty-five." 

"He'd  make  a  nice  lover,"  Rosalie  remarked. 
"Do  you  observe  that  Shirley  always  wears  pink 
wild  roses  at  breakfast  ?  The  Colonel  gathers  the 
closed  buds  every  evening,  cuts  off  all  the  thorns, 
and  they  open  beautifully,  expressly  for  her. 
Those  delicate  attentions  are  very  captivating 
—  so  much  better  than  everlasting  compliments." 
She  had  made  Tom  feel  himself  eclipsed,  and  en 
joyed  it. 


78  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

When  the  Colonel  attempted  to  administer 
the  prophylactic  prescribed  by  Dr.  Berkeley, 
young  Newton  stoutly  rebelled.  "Chill?"  Yes. 
He  confessed  he  had  felt  decided  chill  in  the 
early  morning,  but  it  had  been  through  his  own 
fault.  He'd  know  how  to  avoid  it  a  second  time  ! 
However,  he  would  accept  the  quinine  —  keep 
the  powders  in  his  pocket  and  use  them  if  neces 
sary.  He  supposed  he  ought,  if  he  had  any  sense, 
to  go  home ;  but  there  was  Blake,  his  guest,  who 
anticipated  so  much  pleasure  from  his  visit,  and 
for  whom  the  surprise  party  to  the  Berkeleys'  had 
been  arranged  by  Mrs.  Carrington.  They  all 
wanted  Blake,  who  boasted  of  the  hospitality 
he  had  enjoyed  in  England,  to  see  the  best 
Virginia  could  afford.  All  this  he  represented  to 
the  Colonel,  who  assured  him  of  Mr.  Blake's 
cordial  welcome. 

There  could  never  be  the  slightest  question  as 
to  the  happiness  of  young  people  gathered  for  a 
visit  to  Berkeley  Castle.  Every  resource  of  every 
member  of  the  family  was  for  the  time  devoted 
to  them.  If  the  weather  was  propitious,  they 
lived  out  of  doors  until  the  heat  drove  them 
within.  Outside  the  gravelled  walk  in  front, 
and  on  either  side  in  the  enclosed  yard,  had  been 
planted,  years  before,  a  circle  of  slender  cedars, — 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  79 

a  fashion  borrowed  from  the  Indians, — trained  to 
grow  evenly  and  tall,  the  foliage  shaven  closely 
within  and  without  until  it  was  like  a  smooth 
green  wall.  The  cedars  were  tied  together  at  the 
top,  and  when  weighted,  gave  a  mosque-like 
effect  to  the  little  shelter.  Rustic  seats  were 
placed  within,  chairs  and  cushions  provided,  and 
thither  the  young  people  repaired  in  couples 
with  a  book  to  be  read  aloud,  or  with  flute  and 
guitar  in  companies  of  three  or  four,  to  enjoy  the 
cool,  clean  spot,  fragrant  with  resinous  cedar, 
and  free  from  the  insects  and  caterpillars  that 
infested  the  rose  arbour.  On  one  side  of  the  yard  a 
large  stone  jutted  out,  and  had  been  left  when  the 
house  was  built  to  be  removed  at  "  some  conven 
ient  time"  ;  but  the  time  of  leisure  for  such  an 
undertaking  had  never  come.  Mrs.  Berkeley  had 
caused  the  earth  to  be  hollowed  out  beneath  the 
sheltering  stone,  and  what  with  a  paving  of  shells 
and  pebbles,  and  clever  training  of  flowering 
vines,  a  grotto,  deliciously  cool,  had  been 
achieved. 

Young  people,  after  all,  are  only  overgrown 
children.  We  are  apt  to  consider  them  childish, 
but  two  or  three  years  before,  they  have  been 
really  children;  and  such  "cunning"  nooks  and 
corners  are  always  to  their  taste.  "Can  you  tell 


80  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

me,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  "why  these  girls  had 
rather  sit  on  the  stairs  or  the  newel-post,  or  the 
edge  of  a  table  or  the  arm  of  a  chair  than  in  a 
good  seat  like  Christian  folk  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Mrs.  Carrington,  "they  were 
children  only  day  before  yesterday  and  'played 
house.'" 

However  that  may  be,  when  the  dear  little 
God  of  Love  looks  around,  prospecting,  for  suit 
able  entourage  for  his  manoeuvres,  he  always 
chooses  just  such  nooks  and  corners  as  were  pro 
vided  at  Berkeley  Castle.  Only  lately  had  he  felo 
niously  used  a  cedar  arbour  in  a  neighbour's  ground 
for  one  of  his  unreasonable  and  mischievous  plans. 
A  beautiful  daughter  of  the  house  had  been  for 
bidden  to  receive,  much  less  marry,  the  man  the 
little  deity  had  selected  for  her.  Cupid  is  re 
sourceful,  and  his  confidence  in  his  own  wisdom 
is  his  prime  characteristic.  The  pretty  Alice, 
hitherto  shrinking,  timid,  and  discreet,  changed 
gowns  with  her  maid,  and  garbed  in  linsey- 
woolsey,  with  a  pail  on  her  head,  passed  in  the 
early  morning  through  her  parents'  bedroom 
opening  into  her  own,  and  joined  her  lover  in 
the  cedar  arbour,  —  the  arbour  they  had  planted 
on  her  birthday  and  trained  with  infinite  pains 
for  her  pleasure. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  81 

On  this  morning,  Shirley,  accompanied  by 
Minerva  with  rugs  and  pillows,  entered  upon  the 
daily  task  of  arranging  the  arbours  for  the  day. 
She  had  finished  these  and  sent  Minerva  to  the 
house  across  the  lawn  while  she  examined  the 
grotto  to  see  if  it  was  in  perfect  order,  with  no 
traces  of  snails  or  slugs,  when  Mr.  Blake  appeared 
and  begged  for  "just  a  minute  —  one  little  min 
ute"  —  with  him,  that  he  might  get  acquainted 
with  the  charming  spot. 

"It  was  an  object  of  my  curiosity  yesterday," 
he  said.  "To-day  it  is  not  a  nymph-haunted 
grotto  —  it  is  a  temple,  and  I  worship  my  god 
dess."  And  mockingly  falling  on  one  knee,  he 
clasped  his  hands  and  assumed  an  air  of  rapt  de 
votion.  Shirley  smiled  down  upon  the  wor 
shipper  as  she  sat  enthroned  on  a  high  rustic 
chair,  and  just  at  the  moment  Douglas  Newton 
passed,  walking  with  Elvira,  who  whispered, 
"We  won't  tell,  will  we  ?"  She  perfectly  well 
understood  these  little  play-acting  scenes,  and 
was  surprised  to  find  young  Newton  flushing  furi 
ously.  "The  impertinent  -  ''  he  exclaimed,  but 
immediately  controlled  himself,  and  said  coolly  : 
"Of  course  not.  Every  man  has  his  rights." 

"And  every  woman,  too,"  said  Elvira.  She 
understood  at  once,  and  resented  his  attitude  — 


82  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"and  if  Shirley  Berkeley  hasn't  the  right  to  hom 
age,  I  don't  know  who  has." 

But  her  companion  had  not  heard  her.  With 
his  handsome  brows  knitted  he  was  trying  to  pull 
himself  together  and  face  an  unexpected  state  of 
things.  The  grotto  !  To  him  it  had  been  a  sa 
cred  spot.  Why  had  he  ever  brought  that  mock 
ing  man  of  the  world  to  profane  it  ?  When  he 
was  a  lad,  he  had  been  permitted  to  come  daily 
to  Berkeley  Castle  that  he  might  be  "coached" 
for  the  university  by  Shirley's  tutor.  He  could 
remember  Sabbath  mornings  when  there  was  no 
preaching  at  St.  Martin's,  and  Shirley  and  he 
would  read  the  services  together  in  the  grotto ; 
and  when  he  was  away  at  the  University  or 
travelling  abroad,  he  had  often  recalled  this,  im 
agined  her  little  white-robed  figure,  reading  them 
perhaps  with  Dorothea,  and  whispered  rever 
ently  :  — 

"Nymph,  in  thy  orisons 
Be  all  my  sins  remembered  !" 

He  could  not  recall  one  hour  in  which  he  had 
not  loved  her.  As  he  strode  in  silence  beside  his 
companion,  Elvira  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Dear  old  Shirley  has  caught  them  both,  I 
reckon,"  she  thought;  "Anne  will  have  to  look 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  83 

out !  I  wonder  if  she'll  take  either  !  My  !  But 
how  Douglas  has  improved  since  he  travelled. 
Upon  my  word,  I  believe  he's  the  best-looking 
man  I  know.  Give  me  a  dark  man  every  time. 
No  blue  eyes  for  me  !" 

The  day,  so  unfortunately  begun,  was  no 
prophecy  of  the  days  that  followed.  Never 
were  young  people  so  busy  and  gay  !  One  day 
it  rained  incessantly,  and  they  danced  polkas ; 
played  dominoes;  "graces,"  an  old-fashioned 
game,  with  hoops  and  sticks ;  battledore  and 
shuttlecock ;  and  sang  no  end  of  Moore's  and 
Byron's  beautiful  words  set  to  the  old  folk-songs 
of  Scotland.  The  tender  grace  of  melancholy 
was  the  favourite  of  the  hour  —  hopeless  love, 
exile,  mournful  retrospection,  sighs  of  the  cap 
tive,  broken  hearts,  despair;  these  were  dic 
tated  by  fashion  as  suitable  subjects  for  the 
songs  of  polite  society,  —  and  only  perfectly 
happy  people  could  have  borne  to  sing  them  ! 
The  Captive  Knight  who  sees  his  comrades  pass, 
but  too  distant  to  be  reached  and  released  by 
them ;  the  exiled  maiden  dying  for  her  Swiss 
mountains  !  But  the  song  that  rent  the  tender 
hearts  of  these  youthful  men  and  maidens  was  the 
"  Carrier  Dove."  How  they-swelled  with  pitiful 
sympathy  at  the  words  of  the  captive  lover, 


84  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

doomed  for  life,  as  he  gave  to  the  air  the  Dove 
with  the  message  under  its  wing. 

"  I  can  bear  in  a  dungeon  to  waste  away  youth, 
I  can  fall  by  the  conqueror's  sword, 
But  I  cannot  endure  she  should  doubt  my  truth  !  " 

After  all  none  could  equal  in  intensity  of  pas 
sionate  despair  the  "Good-bye"  of  Tosti  in  our 
own  day  —  that  cry  of  anguish  with  which  we 
are  wont  to  enliven  our  afternoon  teas  !  Strange! 
Is  it  that  we  need  a  bitter  drop  to  give  zest  to  an 
over-sweet  cup  ?  The  death's  head  at  the  feast 
never  seems  to  have  forbidden  the  revelry ; 
the  sword  of  Damocles  doubtless  interfered  with 
the  digestion  of  the  monarch,  but  we  do  not  read 
that  it  drove  him  from  the  banquet-hall. 

The  story  of  the  week  at  Berkeley  Castle  af 
fords  but  a  slight  sketch  of  summer  social  life  in 
old  Virginia.  The  old-fashioned  hospitality  for 
which  she  was  famous  sixty  years  ago  deserves 
more  than  a  passing  notice.  Few  survive  who  re 
member  it,  and  praiseworthy  as  are  the  efforts  of 
the  young  writers  of  the  present  day  to  imagine 
and  picture  it,  few  succeed  in  making  the  old 
time  live  again  —  so  widely  different  from  any 
that  will  ever  succeed  it. 

A   very   slight   acquaintance   was    considered 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  85 

sufficient  warrant  for  a  visit  of  three  or  more 
days ;  and  sometimes  the  casual  visitor,  like  a 
wind-blown  seed,  would  fasten,  take  root,  and 
become  a  fixture  for  an  entire  summer.  This 
was  often  the  case  in  Virginia  —  the  Virginia  of 
the  warm  heart  and  the  open  hand.  There  could 
be  found  in  every  community  some  delightful, 
cheery,  thriftless  ne'er-do-weel  who  loved  his 
fellow-man,  but  was  quite  too  poor  to  entertain 
him,  and  whose  heart  would  have  been  broken 
had  he  thought  himself  purposely  left  out  in  the 
sending  of  invitations  "to  spend  the  summer." 
If  he  did  happen  to  find  himself  forgotten,  why, 
that  was  surely  an  oversight !  He  would  arrive, 
all  the  same,  with  the  rest,  be  welcomed  as 
warmly  and  take  his  place  as  confidently  as  any 
of  them. 

An  invitation  sixty  years  ago  would  often  read 
thus  :  "You  must  come  early  in  June  and  spend 
the  summer."  The  great,  rambling  old  country 
house,  sprouting  all  over  with  rooms  that  had 
been  added  as  needed  to  the  original  structure, 
would,  about  the  middle  of  July,  exhibit  symptoms 
of  bursting.  Attracted  by  the  fun,  the  neigh 
bouring  lads  and  lassies  would  come  for  a  visit  of 
a  few  days,  and,  as  every  available  corner  was 
already  filled,  beds  would  be  nightly  or,  rather, 


86  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

midnightly  laid  upon  the  drawing-room  floor. 
Everybody  in  the  neighbourhood  gave  a  dinner 
party  to  everybody  else.  On  such  occasions  the 
guests  would  arrive  about  eleven  in  the  morning, 
dine  at  three,  and  drive  home  singing  in  the 
moonlight. 

Conversation,  one  must  confess,  was  rather 
stilted ;  certainly  it  was  literary,  very  compli 
mentary,  and  absolutely  free  from  personal  gos 
sip.  The  dinners  were  wonderful  :  fish,  poultry, 
game,  roast,  and  every  conceivable  combination 
of  cream  and  sugar ;  every  preserved  fruit  known 
to  civilization  ;  wondrous  wreaths  cut  from  green 
melon  rinds,  delicious  in  translucent  syrup  and 
served  in  crystal  dishes  wreathed  with  roses. 
Garlands  of  running  cedar  festooned  the  walls, 
the  cup  of  each  silver  candlestick  held  its  own 
posy,  plumy  asparagus  filled  the  ample  fireplaces, 
bowls  of  roses  gleamed  from  every  corner  and 
adorned  every  table.  In  the  midst  of  all  this 
bloom  and  beauty  healths  were  pledged  in  old 
Madeira,  and  in  tall  glasses  crowned  with  "the 
herb  that  grows  on  the  graves  of  good  Virginians." 
The  floors  were  waxed,  the  little  piano  was  in 
tune,  and  there  was  a  dance  in  the  afternoon. 
As  the  shadows  lengthened  somebody  would  sing, 
"When  twilight  dews  are  falling  fast,"  or  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  87 

young  men,  smoking  on  the  veranda,  would  im 
provise  verses,  and  "Vive  FAmour"  be  given  with 
a  rousing  chorus. 

On  these  occasions  the  girls  wore  their  smartest 
India  muslins,  tuned  their  guitars,  and  furbished 
up  something  to  recite  :  selections  from  "Lalla 
Rookh,"  or  the  new  genius,  Tennyson.  Visits 
were  made  to  the  grottos  and  rose-clad  summer- 
houses,  and  to  admire  the  treasures  of  the  con 
servatory,  with  its  orange  and  lemon  trees  and 
flaming  pomegranates.  All  the  servants,  all  the 
children,  all  the  old  people,  contributed  to  the 
joy  of  the  time ;  and  if  some  natural  languor 
ensued  from  so  prolonged  a  season  of  gayety,  the 
universal  sentiment  was  that  so  well  expressed 
by  "The  Shaughran, "  —  "Begorra,  'twas  worth 
it!" 

Of  course,  these  summer  house-parties  would 
ebb  back  to  the  city  in  winter,  when  our  hospita 
ble  country  friends  would  come  to  spend  a  month 
or  two  in  town.  But  nothing,  —  no  dinners,  balls, 
or  theatres,  not  even  "the  celebrated  preacher," 
—  nothing  could  begin  to  equal  the  glorious  time 
in  the  big  country  houses.  I  can  remember 
naught  but  happiness  connected  with  these  house- 
parties.  I  cannot  recall  any  selfish  struggling 
for  social  preeminence,  any  inequality  through 


88  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

respect  for  wealth,  any  mean  jealousies  or  heart 
burnings.  Kind  souls  would  sometimes  be  af 
flicted  because  it  was  not  possible  for  one  beauty 
to  marry  all  her  lovers  ;  but  then  she  could  prom 
ise  to,  and  appear  to  keep  her  word  at  least  for 
the  summer,  and  thus  things  were  softened  and 
made  more  comfortable.  Happy  days  !  Sunny 
days,  perfumed  with  roses  !  Starlit  nights,  and 
"Moons  of  Villon,"  seeming  in  our  dreams  so 
much  fairer  than  the  moons  of  to-day  ! 

The  little  party  about  to  separate  had  reason, 
all  their  lives,  to  remember  the  week  they  had 
spent  together  at  Berkeley  Castle.  The  years 
yet  to  come  were  to  be  ordered  by  emotions  and 
impulses,  the  keynote  of  which  was  struck  that 
first  morning  of  their  visit.  Mr.  Blake  affected 
to  have  surrendered  at  once.  He  was  handsome 
and  agreeable,  with  the  bearing  of  an  accom 
plished  man  of  the  world.  He  devoted  himself 
exclusively  to  Shirley,  and  openly  seemed  to  press 
his  suit  with  vigour.  He  was  the  honoured  guest 
-the  "gentleman  from  the  North,"  who  had 
visited  England  and  the  continent.  Nobody 
questioned  his  antecedents,  but  all  would  have 
liked  to  learn  his  politics.  However,  he  did  not 
intrude  them,  and  always  —  he  was  a  guest ! 
There  were  plenty  of  subjects  for  conversation 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  89 

without  touching  the  crucial  Wilmot  proviso. 
There  were  the  stories  of  the  new  El  Dorado  of 
the  world,  coming  after  a  journey  of  forty  days 
in  the  mail-bags,  —  stories  which  were  accepted 
with  fervid  belief.  A  rainbow  had  spanned  the 
continent,  and  the  pot  of  gold  been  found  at  its 
end.  Said  De  Quincey,  "  California  is  going  ahead 
at  a  rate  that  beats  Sinbad  and  Gulliver.  It  all 
reads  like  a  page  from  the  'Arabian  Nights." 
Then  the  brilliant  triumphs  of  our  flag  in  Mexico 
were  still  recent.  Songs  born  of  the  times  and 
the  recent  campaigns,  military  and  political,  chal 
lenged  attention  as  well  as  exiled  maidens,  captive 
knights,  and  forlorn  lovers.  Just  below  the  hori 
zon  even  then  was  trembling  the  cloud  destined 
to  burst  in  fury  upon  old  Virginia,  and  the  young 
men  and  maidens  who  sang  and  danced  away 
the  summer  days  proved  themselves  stout  of 
heart  to  meet  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ON  the  last  day  of  Mrs.  Carrington's  visit  with 
her  party,  Mr.  Napoleon  Johnson  again  encoun 
tered  the  gardener.  Mr.  Johnson  was  strolling 
through  the  garden,  conscious  of  Andy's  watchful 
eye,  albeit  the  gardener  was  apparently  absorbed 
in  "hilling  up"  the  celery.  With  an  irresistible 
desire  to  "get  even"  with  his  sharp-tongued 
enemy  he  resolved  to  impart  a  secret  which  would 
not  only  command  attention  but  insure  respect. 

"We  are  leaving  day  after  to-morrow,  Mr. 
What-you-may-call." 

Andy  continued  to  spade  the  mould  over  his 
celery,  and  gave  no  sign. 

"We'll  likely  come  again  soon !  I  knows 
something  for  sure,  will  bring  us  back  !" 

"  If  ye  ken  yer  family  secrets,  ye  may  keep  'em," 
said  Andy.  Then  suddenly  looking  up  from  his 
work,  he  exclaimed,  "  Eh,  sirs  !  Ye  suldna  stand  in 
the  light  o'  the  bleezing  sunshine  !  If  yer  insides 
be  comformable  to  yer  outsides,  it's  a  sair  pity." 

"I  can  tell  you  something,  Mr.  What's-his- 
name,"  said  the  other,  in  a  rage,  "that'll  change 

9° 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  91 

your  tune  and  mend  your  manners,  and  pretty 
quick,  too.  Your  young  lady,  Miss  Shirley  —  " 
But  he  got  no  further.  Raising  his  spade  in  a 
threatening  manner,  Andy  rushed  towards  him, 
and  thundered  out  :  "Tak  yer  black  carcase  oot 
o'  my  sight.  Awa'  wi'  ye  !  I'll  — "  but  Mr. 
Napoleon  Johnson  was  already  far  on  his  way  to  a 
vantage-ground  of  safety.  The  gardener  stooped 
to  pick  up  a  stone,  but  thinking  better  of  it,  he 
stacked  his  spade  and  walked  to  his  little  house. 
There  he  repaired  to  a  chest  in  a  corner,  unlocked 
it,  and  withdrew  from  a  small  box  carefully  tied 
with  twine  the  letter  he  had  found.  "I'se  no 
guiding  just  what  to  do  neist,"  he  pondered,  "the 
black  skellum  !  I  dinna  ken  !  I  sudna  hae  been 
sae  rash,  but  mairciful  Providence  alane  kept  me 
from  whanging  him  aside  his  heid  wi'  my  spade. 
I'll  e'en  do  it,  gin  he  comes  spearing  aboot  my 
young  lady.  What  maun  be  maun  be  !"  He 
appreciated  the  necessity  of  giving  up  what 
clearly  belonged  to  another,  but  had  no  clear  idea 
to  whom  he  should  confide  the  letter  which  would 
settle  Blake.  "Not  to  the  bonny  leddy  her  ain- 
sell  !  I'll  no  smirch  her  fair  saul  wi'  the  like  o' 
it !  The  master  is  whiles  unco'  hasty  —  and  it 
will  be  mair  mensefu'  if  nae  bluid  be  spilt.  The 
auld  leddy,  Miss  Prissy  ?  Na,  na  !  She  wadna 


92  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

bide  to  read  it."  These  thoughts  chased  each 
other  through  his  perplexed  mind  as  he  walked 
slowly  towards  the  house. 

He  had  not  gone  far  from  his  cottage  when  he 
met  his  prime  favourite,  Douglas  Newton. 

"Ah,  Andy  !  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  We  leave 
in  a  day  or  two  now  and  I  haven't  found  time 
to  see  much  of  you  and  the  flowers." 

"Ye'll  come  again  sune,  I'm  thinkin'  ?" 

"No,  Andy,  not  soon  —  perhaps  not  ever." 

"Whisht!"  whispered  the  gardener,  thrilled 
by  a  sudden  resolution.  "Come  awa',  man,  into 
my  bit  cot  yonder !  There's  pryin'  eyes  an* 
listenin'  ears  hereabout !  I  maun  speak  to  you 
your  lane." 

"Why,  what  is  it,  Andy,"  said  Douglas,  who 
really  feared  the  gardener  had  lost  his  senses. 
But  Andy  gripped  him  by  the  arm  and  hurried 
him  on. 

After  peering  all  around  the  cottage  he  entered, 
and  carefully  shutting  the  door,  he  opened  the 
letter  with  fingers  trembling  with  excitement,  and 
placed  it  under  Newton's  eyes. 

"Why  —  this  is  not  meant  for  me  !  Where  did 
you  get  it  —  nobody  could  have  sent  this  to  me  !" 

Andy  turned  over  the  little  sheet  and  exhibited 
the  address. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  93 

Young  Newton  was  astounded.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  compromising  than  the  few 
words  he  read.  The  signature  was  that  of  a 
person  notorious  in  the  papers  even  in  that  reti 
cent  age  —  a  person  whom  no  decent  man  could 
possibly  know. 

"Oh,  Andy, "  he  said  at  last  in  distress,  "you 
should  not  have  done  this  !  "  And  to  the  gar 
dener's  great  surprise  and  discomfiture  he  thrust 
the  paper  back  into  his  hand,  saying  sternly  : 
"You  should  not  have  kept  it  one  hour.  It  be 
longs  to  Mr.  Blake,  and  you  must  restore  it  to 
him." 

The  gardener  commenced  a  surly  protest,  but 
Newton  had  broken  away  and  was  striding  down 
the  garden  walk  leading  to  the  stream  at  the 
bottom.  Resting  his  hand  on  top  of  the  wall,  he 
lightly  leaped  over,  and  walked  along  a  little 
path  among  the  reeds  and  rushes  to  a  willow  over 
hanging  the  water.  Beneath  the  tree  was  a  stone, 
a  favourite  spot  to  which  he  had  often  resorted  in  a 
troubled  hour  during  the  past  week.  As  soon  as 
he  was  seated  the  little  fishes  in  a  pool  at  his  feet 
appeared  to  catch  the  food  they  had  learned  to 
expect  from  him.  Sorely  dazed  as  he  was  he 
could  not  resist  the  mute  appeal.  Putting  his 
hand  in  his  accustomed  pocket  to  find  some 


94  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

crumbs  that  might  have  been  left  and  finding 
none,  he  tried  another,  and  his  fingers  closed  over 
folded  papers  which  proved  to  be  the  quinine 
powders  the  Colonel  had  given  him.  He  was 
about  to  throw  them  in  the  water  when  he  remem 
bered.  "God  forbid  I  should  make  the  cup 
bitter  for  you,"  he  said,  "or  for  any  creature 
that  crawls,"  and  the  powders  were  restored  to 
their  hiding-place. 

He  felt  himself  to  be  in  a  most  terrible  position. 
Blake,  —  well,  it  was  not  for  him  to  constitute 
himself  judge,  and  convict  or  punish  any  man  ! 
He  had  thought  so  well  of  Blake  !  He  had  intro 
duced  him  to  his  dearest,  most  valued  friends  ! 
The  letter  certainly  belonged  to  him,  and  should  be 
restored  to  him.  Was  it  his  duty  to  expose  Blake 
to  Dr.  Berkeley  ?  Trouble  and  embarrassment 
might  ensue.  He  felt  humiliated  that  he  should 
have  introduced  Blake.  Yet  —  what  reason  had 
he  for  suspecting  him  ?  At  all  events  he  would 
have  to  endure  him  until  the  end  of  his  visit, 
which  he  prayed  might  be  near. 

As  to  Shirley  —  her  manner  towards  himself 
had  been  that  of  ordinary  courtesy.  She  had 
given  him  no  chances.  He  had  not  found  her  one 
moment  alone.  No  matter  !  She  was  fresh  from 
school.  No  man  was  ahead  of  him.  She  was 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  95 

now  a  woman,  exquisite,  living,  breathing  —  and 
to  be  won  !  In  imagination  he  saw  her  in  a  fine 
old  colonial  mansion,  with  every  luxury  that 
wealth  could  give,  or  the  devotion  of  one  man  sug 
gest  —  and  that  mansion  was  Beechwood  and 
that  man  was  Douglas  Newton.  A  sudden  ela 
tion  filled  his  young  heart  —  born,  however,  of 
no  clearly  defined  plan  —  and  his  step  was  elastic 
and  buoyant  as  he  retraced  the  iris-bordered 
path,  leaped  over  the  low  wall,  and  ascended  the 
terrace-steps  leading  to  the  broad  gravelled  walk 
in  the  garden.  Down  this  walk  the  Colonel, 
Shirley,  and  Dorothea  were  slowly  pacing,  Shirley 
and  the  Colonel  evidently  absorbed  in  some  inter 
esting  topic  and  little  Dorothea,  with  upturned 
face,  an  earnest  listener. 

"Good  morning,"  called  Douglas.  "Are  you 
planning  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  us  to 
day?" 

"Precisely  !"  said  Shirley,  "we  are  conspira 
tors.  We  have  come  forth  to  look  for  you  that 
you  may  conspirit  with  us." 

"Come  into  the  summer-house,"  said  the 
Colonel.  He  seated  himself  and  took  Dorothea 
on  his  knee.  "Now  this  is  the  state  of  the  case  : 
Nobody  is  coming  to  dine,  and  nobody  has  asked 
us  to  go  to  them.  We've  been  everywhere  — 


96  THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 

done  everything.  Consequently  there's  nothing 
more  to  do.  Shirley  is  positively  clear  on  one 
point,  —  that  she  cannot  face  another  long,  hot 
day  listening  to  Mr.  Blake's  reading  of  senti 
mental  poetry  and  his  own  personal  applications 
thereon,  and  - 

"Now,  Cousin  James,  how  can  you  say  that  ? 
Am  I  n6t  always  delighted  to  hear  him  ?" 

"Well,  Shirley,"  said  the  Colonel,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "that's  what  you  told  me  last  night ! 
That  was  your  candle-light  impression.  —  We 
can  then  dismiss  the  new  arrangement  and  repeat 
the  experiences  of  yesterday." 

"Oh,  dear  me  !"  said  Shirley.  "I  thought  it 
was  all  settled." 

"Yes,  Douglas,"  chimed  in  little  Dorothea, 
"we  are  all  going  to  Catesby  to  spend  the  day. 
Shirley  did  say  — " 

"Never  mind,  darling  !  -  -  You  see,  Douglas, 
Cousin  James  thinks  as  every  one  of  us  here  is  a 
son  or  daughter  of  an  old  friend  of  his  father  and 
mother,  and  must  have  visited  Catesby  in  child 
hood,  it  will  be  interesting  to  go  there  again. 
Some  of  us  might  remember  —  I  know  Mama 
and  Aunt  Prissy  could  —  and  Cousin  Ellen.  It 
is  only  six  miles  away.  But  we'll  have  to  hurry. 
It  is  ten  o'clock  now." 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  97 

"How  about  Mr.  Blake?" 

"Oh  —  I  suppose  he'll  have  to  go  along  !  He 
might  prefer  to  stay  at  home,  and  Milly  could 
take  care  of  him  until  Papa  comes  from  his  sick 
people." 

"I  never  heard  anything  as  delightful,"  ex 
claimed  Douglas.  "I'll  go  with  you  to  the 
stables,  Colonel,  and  see  about  the  traps." 

"And  I'll  find  Aunt  Prissy.  We  were  going 
to  have  chicken  salad  to-day,  and  the  chickens 
were  roasted  yesterday.  We  can  fill  baskets  with 
ham  and  pickles,  cold  duck  and  chickens,  and 
beaten  biscuit !  Come,  Dolly,"  and  taking  the 
little  girl's  hand,  she  ran  lightly  up  the  terrace 
steps  on  her  errand. 

"The  truth  is,"  said  the  Colonel,  "Shirley  is 
tired  out.  She  looks  positively  haggard.  If  you 
want  my  opinion,  I  should  say  she  has  had  a 
little  too  much  Blake  in  her  share  of  the  pleasant 
week.  I  observe  she  quoted  me.  The  plan 
for  to-day  is  hers." 

"I  thought  she  liked  his  company,"  said 
Douglas,  gravely. 

"A  little  too  much,  then,  of  a  good  thing. 
Anyhow,  the  idea  is  hers,  not  mine.  I'm  too 
good  a  friend  of  all  of  you  to  take  you  on  any 
such  wild  expedition.  I  haven't  seen  the  place 


98  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

for  a  month.  There  was  a  snake  on  the  front 
porch  last  time  I  was  there  —  and  I  didn't  kill 
the  snake,  either." 

"There'll  be  another,"  said  Douglas,  "if  Blake 
goes  with  us." 

"  Why,  man,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  thought 
he  was  your  friend." 

"So  he  was  —  so  he  is  no  longer  !  Ah,  well  ! 
I  suppose  I  have  my  humours,  and  I  have  also 
my  prejudices.  But,  Colonel--!  can  say  no 
more  now,  but  as  I  brought  him  here  I  feel 
responsibility,  and  I  am  free  to  say  to  you  con 
fidentially,  I  like  him  less  than  I  did." 

The  Colonel  was  accustomed  to  the  petty 
jealousies,  the  temporary  estrangements,  the 
warm  reconciliations  of  young  people,  —  nay, 
families,  —  and  he  attached  no  serious  impor 
tance  to  this.  But  in  the  hasty  arrangements 
for  the  day,  he  resolved  to  observe  Mr.  Blake 
more  closely. 

Now  as  they  walked  to  the  stables,  he  sud 
denly  recalled  the  fact  that  Blake  had  been  re 
ceived  without  any  thought  or  question  as  to 
his  antecedents. 

"By  the  bye,  Douglas,"  he  said,  "where  did 
you  first  meet  Mr.  Blake  ?  What  do  you  know 
about  him  ?" 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  99 

"That  last  question  is  one  I  am  asking  myself. 
We  went  over  in  the  same  ship,  and  he  made 
himself  extremely  agreeable  to  all  the  passengers. 
I  had  the  letters  you  had  given  me  to  the  Amer 
ican  Minister  who  kindly  invited  me  to  spend 
a  few  days  with  him,  and  Blake  called  upon  me 
at  his  home.  Of  course  I  introduced  him,  and 
Mr.  Bancroft  invited  him  to  dine  one  day. 
Everybody  liked  him.  I  remember  Mr.  Bancroft 
very  cordially  assured  him  of  welcome  when 
he  returned.  I  met  him  again  on  the  Continent. 
He  seemed  to  take  a  great  fancy  to  me,  and  when 
we  parted,  I  invited  him  to  Newton  Hall." 
"Then  really  you  know  nothing  of  the  man." 
"I  know  all  I  wish  to  know,"  said  Douglas. 
"I  shall  treat  him  with  civility  while  he  is  my 
guest.  Apres?  Well,  that  depends  upon  his 
future  movements.  He  is  certainly  not  to  move 
in  our  circle  longer  than  I  can  help." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"REMARKS  upon  my  farming  will  not  be  in 
order,"  the  Colonel  called  out,  as  the  cavalcade 
paused  for  a  gate  on  rusty  hinges  to  be  opened 
from  the  main  road.  "  I  can  see  at  a  glance  that 
the  hayricks  were  not  covered,  and  the  rain  has 
made  mischief;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  tobacco  is  lifting  its  head;  that  is  our 
main  chance,  and  old  Abram  has  it  in  fine 
condition." 

A  short  drive  through  an  avenue  of  cedars, 
somewhat  ragged  from  age,  brought  them  to 
the  box-bordered  front  yard  of  the  residence. 
The  tree  variety  of  box  had  been  planted  there, 
each  side  of  a  little  gate,  and  cut  and  trimmed 
to  simulate  a  tall  square  pillar  with  a  large  ball 
on  top,  —  copying  in  green  the  granite  gate 
pillars  of  the  early  colonist,  upon  which  he  was 
wont  to  chisel  his  English  coat-of-arms.  These 
evergreen  imitations  had  been  long  strangers  to 
the  pruning  knife,  and,  taking  the  gate  in  close 
embrace,  had  grown  together  in  a  solid  mass, 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  101 

—  pathetic  reminders  of  the  fact  that  no  step  of 
owner,  neighbour,  or  friend  had  for  years  passed 
between  them. 

"Now,  here's  a  hospitable  entrance  to  be  sure," 
laughed  Shirley. 

"But  no  prophetic  message,"  stoutly  declared 
the  Colonel.  "That  impertinent  box  shall  be 
pruned  into  shape,  Miss  Shirley  !  Some  day, 
you  and  Mary  and  Dorothea,  and  Douglas  and 
Miss  Anne  and  all  of  you  will  come  and  walk 
through  —  not  around." 

But  having  now  walked  around,  a  new  ob 
stacle  presented  itself.  A  honeysuckle  had  fallen 
from  the  porch  and  crawled  like  a  huge  serpent 
over  the  front  walk,  finally  encountered  an  oak, 
clambered  up,  and  taken  possession  comfortably 
of  the  lower  branches. 

'  'With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine 
o'ergrown,"' said  Douglas.  "A  ' gadding  vine' 
indeed  !  " 

"A  family  trait!"  said  the  Colonel.  "I  am 
a  gadding  vine  myself  -  -  left  my  own  place  where 
I  was  planted,  and  took  possession  of  a  neigh 
bour's  roof-tree." 

"I  can  remember,"  said  Douglas,  "this  honey 
suckle  on  the  front  porch.  I  was  here  —  a  little 
fellow  —  with  my  mother  on  a  visit,  sitting  on 


102  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

the  bench  below  the  trellis,  and  a  green  snake 
scared  me  almost  to  death,  winding  around  the 
stem.  It  was  going  up  to  a  nest  full  of  young 
wrens  in  the  eaves.  I  never  forgot  it." 

"Ah  !  that  was  the  ancestor  perhaps  of  the 
big  fellow  I  saw  here  last  month,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"No,"  said  Douglas.  "Snakes  that  cross  my 
path  on  their  \\ay  to  young  birds  have  no  de 
scendants." 

The  Colonel  had  now  opened  the  front  doors, 
flanked  by  diamond-paned  side-lights,  and 
crowned  by  a  "rose-window"  from  which  many 
of  the  small  panes  of  glass  were  missing,  and 
going  forward,  threw  open  the  doors  leading 
from  a  broad  central  hall  into  rooms  on  either 
side,  and  through  another  door  to  a  long  veranda 
in  the  rear.  Returning,  he  said  with  a  low  bow, 
"The  lord  of  the  castle  humbly  bids  you  wel 


come." 


"Where  are  his  lordship's  retainers  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Berkeley.  "Methinks  there  were  many 
in  the  ancient  days." 

But  Dorothea  had  run  around  the  house  from 
the  front  gate,  and  now  appeared  with  a  digni 
fied  old  black  woman,  wearing  a  madras  turban, 
a  handkerchief  folded  over  her  ample  breast, 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  103 

and  a  white  apron  —  all  bearing  crisp  folds  from 
recent  ironing. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Colonel.  "How  are  you, 
Aunt  Chloe  ?  I've  brought  you  some  company, 
you  see." 

"Howdy,  Marse  Jeems  !  How  you  come  on  ? 
Your  servant,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  with  a 
curtsey,  but  an  anxious  look  in  her  face,  born  of 
conscious  inability  on  her  own  part  to  provide 
refreshment  for  so  many.  "The  house  is  puf- 
fickly  clean,  suh,"  she  added;  "I  swep'  it  all  out 
yistiddy-- an'  —  an'  there's  a  print  o'  fresh 
butter  in  the  spring." 

"Who  is  with  you  in  the  kitchen  ?"  asked  the 
Colonel.  "Susan  Maria's  little  Jane  and  Peter 
Jones  ?  Well,  make  Susan  Maria's  little  Jane 
run  across  the  field  and  tell  Abram  to  send  me 
two  of  the  boys  to  take  the  horses,  and  you  send 
Peter  Jones  right  away  to  the  spring  for  a  pail 
of  fresh  water ;  and  boil  your  kettle  - 

"Now,  James,"  interposed  Mrs.  Berkeley, 
"just  please  take  yourself  off  with  your  guests 
and  leave  Ellen  with  me  and  Aunt  Chloe.  Send 
in  the  stores.  Where  is  the  sumpter  mule  with 
his  panniers  ?  Ah,  Douglas  !  Don't  leave  the 
basket  of  ice  out  there  in  the  sun  !  Bring  it  in 
here  to  me  !  Tom,  run  down  in  the  garden  and 


io4  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

look  for  the  mint  bed.  Instinct  will  guide  you. 
Take  care,  Rosalie  !  If  you  go  along,  you  must 
look  out  for  briers  on  your  muslin  flounces. 
Give  me  your  keys,  James.  I'll  find  the  brandy  ! 
You  don't  say  so  ?  Some  of  the  old  Madeira  ? 
That's  fine  !  Off  with  you  —  all  of  you  —  until 
you're  called." 

The  Colonel  ushered  his  guests  into  an  im 
mense  drawing-room  divided  by  a  row  of  pillars. 
Sofas  and  chairs  covered  with  black  horsehair 
cloth  stood  stiffly  against  the  wall,  and,  with  a 
round  centre-table  holding  an  Astral  lamp, 
comprised  the  entire  furnishing  of  the  room. 
A  fine  copy  in  Carrara  marble  of  the  Venus  di 
Medici  stood  on  a  pedestal  in  one  corner,  and 
one  beautiful  engraving  hung  over  the  mantel  — 
a  Raffaello  Morghen  proof  of  Guide's  "Aurora." 
The  lovely  goddess  in  her  gracious  attitude, 
and  the  glorious  Hours  surrounding  the  trium 
phal  car  of  the  Rising  Sun  seemed  strangely 
out  of  keeping  with  the  grim  untenanted  chairs 
and  the  long-ago  extinguished  lamp.  Mr.  Blake 
had  not  the  tact  to  suppress  his  appreciation  of 
this  incongruous  assembling,  but  was  instantly, 
though  courteously,  quenched  by  the  Colonel. 

"No  ill  omens,  my  dear  sir  !  The  old  house  is 
surrounded  with  many  singing  birds ;  the  swal- 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  105 

lows  build  in  her  chimneys,  but  the  Raven 
has  not  yet  nested  among  them.  My  Venus 
stands  there  ready  to  welcome  youth  and  beauty 
in  the  future,  as  she  welcomes  it  now  —  golden 
hours  and  a  rising  sun  are  already  here  —  and 
coming  again  some  day." 

He  was  determined  to  make  this  a  happy  day ; 
and  full  as  was  his  own  heart  of  emotion  at  the 
gathering  of  the  children  of  his  parents'  old 
friends  under  his  own  roof,  —  some  of  whom  he 
held  dearest  of  all  others  in  the  world,  —  con 
scious  as  he  always  was  of  the  sleepers  in  the 
grove  beyond  the  garden,  he  allowed  no  word 
or  look  to  mar  the  light  gayety  of  his  guests. 
From  room  to  room  he  led  them  :  to  the 
library  with  its  Hanoverian  book-case  and  tat 
tered  leather  chair,  to  the  ballroom  above,  with 
its  shining  floor  and  many  windows,  —  clearly 
intimating  that  dances  by  daylight  might  often 
be  in  order;  to  the  bedrooms  retaining  little 
except  high  bedsteads  to  be  ascended  by  means 
of  steps  at  the  side  of  each,  and  tall  tables  before 
which  the  belles  of  half  a  century  ago  had  stood, 
high  priests  of  the  mysteries  of  a  beauty's 
toilet. 

"Where  do  you  sleep,  if  you  can  sleep  at  all 
in  this  haunted  house?"  asked  Mr.  Blake. 


io6  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

:<Tom  and  Douglas  can  answer  that  —  or, 
rather,  where  I  don't  sleep  when  they  honour  me 
with  their  company,"  said  the  Colonel.  He 
began  to  think  there  might  be  reason  in  young 
Newton's  change  of  heart.  The  man  evidently 
lacked  sensibility  —  fineness.  He  could  recall, 
now  that  he  was  observant,  many  questions  of 
an  intimate  nature. 

"There's  a  call  for  help  in  the  dining-room," 
was  announced  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"The  punch  !  Here  !  Here  !  Mrs.  Carring- 
ton,  I  am  coming,"  exclaimed  Douglas. 

"Not  at  all  —  stay  where  you  are,  young  man. 
Careful  hands  are  needed  to  wash  the  Colonel's 
Sevres  plates.  He  expressly  orders  them  to  be 
used  !  Not  you,  Elvira  !  You  have  a  gift  for 
breaking  china.  Send  Mildred." 

"But  how  about  the  punch  ?" 

"Punch,  indeed  —  for  dinner!  Where  are 
your  lemons  I'd  like  to  know  ?  You  are  going  to 
have  hot  coffee,  and  we  did  propose  mint 
julep  and  brought  ice,  —  if  Tom  and  Rosalie 
can  get  their  consent  to  leave  the  garden  and 
come  in  out  of  the  hot  sun." 

"How  ever  do  you  happen  to  have  genuine 
Sevres  plates  ?"  asked  the  personal  Mr.  Blake, 
once  more. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  107 

"Simply  because  I  drove  two  and  a  half  miles 
out  of  Paris  to  select  them  where  they  are  made. 
But  my  mother's  crockery  is  older  and  more 
interesting." 

The  dinner  was  a  pronounced  success.  Tom 
and  Rosalie  had  justified  their  long  absence  in 
the  garden,  by  bringing  in,  not  only  mint, 
but  a  basket  of  fine  fresh  figs.  The  old  panelled 
dining-room  held  a  happy  company.  La  Fayette 
had  dined  there  once,  and  many  a  Revolutionary 
officer,  to  say  nothing  of  an  occasional  visit  from 
a  President  of  the  United  States.  "I  mean  to 
have  General  Winfield  Scott  here  at  no  distant 
day  to  meet  the  present  company,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "You  have  all  given  me  a  new  spirit 
by  your  presence.  I  had  no  idea  that  the  bare 
old  rooms  could  be  so  glorified.  To  our  next 
meeting !  Certainly,  Dolly  darling !  If  you 
don't  honour  the  toast,  I  withdraw  it." 

"Wait  a  moment !"  exclaimed  Douglas,  whose 
seat  faced  a  front  window.  "There  is  the  Doc 
tor  coming  in." 

"A  pretty  march  you  stole  on  me,"  said  the 
Doctor,  at  whose  entrance  all  had  risen.  "So 
you  left  me  with  Aunt  Prissy,  did  you  ?  She 
was  making  brandy  peaches,  and  literally  drove 
me  out  of  the  house.  But  how  bright  and  clean 


io8  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

this  room  looks.  Not  at  all  musty  as  one  might 
expect.  Were  you  careful  about  spiders  ?  Never 
sweep  them  down,  you  know,  to  crawl  about." 

"Spiders!"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley,  indignantly. 
"Ah,  you  wise  and  learned  Doctor!  *  Spiders 
never  set  their  webs  on  a  cedar  roof." 

"Authority !"  demanded  the  Doctor. 
"Granted !  granted !  I  know  your  ways  of 
old,  Mary.  My  own  literary  reminiscence  is 
that 

!<  The  subtle  spider  never  spins 
But  on  dark  days  his  slimy  gins." 

"And  the  days  in  this  dear  old  house  have  been 
dark  for  many  years,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Because,"  said  the  Doctor,  "we  have  been 
so  selfish  as  to  borrow  their  light.  The  day  was 
pretty  dark  for  me  this  noon  when  I  alighted 
at  my  own  door  and  found  my  birds  all  flown." 

The  Colonel's  old  India-blue  china  challenged 
the  warmest  approbation  of  the  elders  of  the 
party. 

"It  possesses  a  strange  charm  for  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Carrington.  "The  very  shape  of  those 
covered  cups,  and  squarish  dishes  stirs  my  heart. 
I  don't  know  what  the  picture  means,  so  queer 
and  out  of  perspective.  I  only  know  it  is  per 
fectly  fascinating." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  109 

"Cousin  James  knows,"  said  Dorothea. 

"Then,  of  course,  the  Colonel  will  tell  us," 
said  Anne  Page.  —  "Only  here  and  now  it  is 
hereafter  to  be  my  story  !  I've  asked  for  it, 
and  I  alone  am  to  have  the  honour  of  knowing 
it  and  telling  it  at  dinners  when  I  go  down  to 
Richmond.  They  are  all  crazy  there  about 
French  china,  but  I  can  dilate  upon  the  old  blue 
and  look  superior  and  learned." 

"Suppose  I  decline  to  tell  you  !"  laughed  the 
Colonel.  "Suppose  I  patent  my  story!  How 
do  you  know  I  may  not  invent  it  after  all  ? " 

Anne  rested  her  cheek  thoughtfully  on  the 
tips  of  her  fingers.  "  Alas  !  "  she  sighed,  "  I  am 
quite  powerless  !  I  am  so  small  and  insignifi 
cant  !  Sometimes  —  yes  indeed,  sometimes  — 
*  my  little  body  is  a-weary  of  this  great  world.' 
And  yet  —  and  yet  I  might  '  suppose '  too  ! 
Suppose  /  know  a  secret  —  not  about  the 
Colonel  —  but  about  somebody  the  Colonel 
thinks  the  world  of.  Suppose  that  somebody 
would  faint  away  if  I  told  it  !  Suppose  I  say 
I  will  tell  it,  unless  I  learn  all  about  this  willow 
plate." 

"Blackmail,  and  punishable  by  the  laws  of 
the  Commonwealth!"  exclaimed  Douglas,  with 
half-concealed  anxiety. 


i  io  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"  I  can't  get  my  consent  to  be  a  bore,  even  to 
save  bloodshed  or  defamation  of  character," 
the  Colonel  declared ;  but  the  unanimous  vote 
of  the  party  brought  the  old  story  —  how  a  rich 
Mandarin  who  lived  in  the  large  house  had  a 
daughter,  Li  Chi,  who  very  improperly  went  to 
work  to  capture  poor  Chang,  the  gardener's  son. 
How,  under  the  orange  tree,  they  said  things 
which  the  Mandarin  overheard.  How  he  made 
a  great  to-do,  and  laid  down  the  law;  never 
dreaming  that  any  earthly  mortal  would  dare 
disobey  —  for  Mandarins  are  extremely  hasty 
and  have  small  respect  for  people's  heads ;  how 
the  small  house  in  a  corner  of  the  plate  is  the 
gardener's  cottage  and  there  the  lovers  hid, 
and  obtaining  a  boat,  eloped  to  the  little  hut 
near  the  top,  which  represents  the  humble 
home  Chang  had  provided  for  his  bride;  how 
the  Mandarin  pursued  them  with  a  whip,  and 
would  have  beaten  them  to  death  had  not  the 
gods  dwelling  in  the  sacred  mountains,  quite  at 
the  top  of  the  plate,  turned  them  into  turtle 
doves,  —  an  interesting  species  of  bird  that  has 
been  found  to  be  indigenous  to  all  countries,  all 
climes,  and  which  changed  its  song  ever  after  to 
a  mourning  plaint.  "Miss  Li  Chi  and  Mr. 
Chang,"  add^d  the  Colonel,  "eloped  in  early 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  in 

spring,  when  the  willows  put  forth  their  leaves. 
Hence  the  willow  tree  in  the  picture !  The 
season  is  regularly  observed  by  American  turtle 
doves." 

"Very  nice,  very  satisfactory,"  observed  Anne, 
thoughtfully,  "but  I'll  make  a  deal  more  of  it 
when  I  tell  it.  My  secret  is  safe  —  until  further 
provocation." 

"Miss  Anne  is  rash,"  said  Douglas.  "Other 
people  might  be  armed  with  a  'suppose,'  — not 
altogether  supposititious." 

It  was  always  understood  that  upon  every 
excursion  the  Colonel  and  Primrose  would  take 
care  of  Shirley  and  Dorothea  in  their  own  little 
cart.  "Did  you  like  the  old  house,  Shirley?" 
he  asked,  bending  his  head  to  find  her  face 
under  the  brim  of  her  deep  bonnet,  as  they 
drove  home  in  the  delicious  evening  air. 

"Loved  it,"  the  girl  replied  fervently.  "It 
is  the  dearest  old  house  !  And  that  wonderful 
portrait  of  Admiral  Ap  Catesby  Jones  !  And 
your  own  portrait  —  exactly  like  you  —  over 
the  high  mantel  in  the  dining  room.  The  eyes 
followed  me  everywhere — did  you  notice,  Dolly  ? 
Bring  us  again  soon,  please." 

"Soon  and  often.  I  shall  set  about  rehabili 
tating  the  place  at  once.  While  you  are  away, 


ii2  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

I  shall  make  a  beginning.     It  shall  be  every 
thing  it  used  to  be." 

"I  wish  I  could  stay  and  help  you,"  said 
Shirley.  "We  could  be  so  happy  over  it.  Dear  ! 
Dear !  It's  a  pity  poor  Papa  must  have  those 


waters." 


Alas  !     She  little  knew  how  deeply  her  words 
sank  into  her  hearer's  heart ! 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  young  company  elected  to  make  this  last 
evening  of  their  happy  week  a  musical  festival. 
Shirley  was  accomplished  in  music,  having  had 
a  rare  genius  for  her  teacher ;  Rosalie  and  Mil 
dred  sang  duets  from  "  Norma,"  and  a  wonder 
ful  example  of  colorature,  "I've  wandered  in 
dreams";  Elvira  played  a  Spanish  fandango  on 
the  guitar;  Anne,  a  dignified  Portia,  recited 
"You  see  me,  Lord  Bassanio";  Tom  Black- 
well,  on  being  called  upon,  declared,  in  an 
injured  tone,  that  he  must  be  excused,  that 
although  he  had  a  good  voice  and  knew  a  good 
song,  he  had  been  so  cruelly  criticised  by  his 
first  audience  at  Berkeley  Castle  —  Miss  Rosalie 
and  Miss  Dorothea  —  that  his  feelings  had  not 
yet  recovered  from  the  shock  they  had  sustained. 

As  Mr.  Blake  was  the  star  of  the  company,  he 
was  allowed  the  concluding  song  —  and  quite 
electrified  his  audience  by  an  ambitious  aria  from 
a  recent  opera. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Prissy,  Mrs.  Carrington,  the 
Doctor,  and  the  Colonel  made  a  partie  carree 


n4  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

for  whist  in  the  library;  and  Mrs.  Berkeley 
was  only  too  happy  to  rest  in  the  veranda  with 
tired  little  Dorothea  in  her  arms,  out  of  the  way, 
and  responsible  for  nobody's  amusement.  The 
day,  with  its  memories,  had  been  full  for  her,  and 
she  felt  subdued  in  spirit  and  glad  to  be  alone. 
After  the  ambitious  music  had  been  duly 
rendered  and  admired,  Mr.  Blake  sang  again 
and  again  and  finally,  "recalling  the  wonderful 
day, "  offered  Hood's  tender  song,  "  I  remember, 
I  remember  the  cot  where  I  was  born,"  —  new, 
then,  and  destined  never  to  grow  old,  —  render 
ing,  with  touching  pathos,  the  concluding  lines  : — 

"  I  remember,  I  remember  the  fir  trees  dark  and  high ; 
I  used  to  think  their  shady  tops  grew  close  against  the 

sky; 

It  was  a  childish  ignorance  —  but,  ah  !     'Tis  little  joy 
To  find  I'm  farther  off  from  Heaven  than  when  I  was  a 

boy." 

He  had  a  sympathetic  audience,  ready  for 
tears  or  smiles  on  demand.  Douglas  fancied  he 
saw  Shirley's  eyes  dimming,  lost  all  patience, 
and  exclaimed :  — 

"  Isn't  there  another  verse,  Blake  ?  That  is 
too  pathetic  an  ending." 

"Unfortunately,  no  other  would  be  appro 
priate." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  115 

"It  might  end  this  way  —  pardon  me,"  and 
taking  the  guitar  from  the  hand  of  the  singer,  he 
imitated  to  perfection  his  rapt  uplifted  look,  and 
in  a  fine  barytone,  rolled  out :  — 

"  I  remember,  I  remember  the  peach  tree  by  the  wall ; 
I  used  to  watch  its  shady  tops  in  hopes  a  peach  would  fall; 
It  was  a  childish  ignorance  —  but,  ah  !     'Tis  little  joy 
To  find  that  I  get  no  more  fruit  than  when  I  was  a  boy." 

The  laughter  that  followed  irritated  Blake; 
and  an  ugly  gleam  shot  from  his  eye.  Douglas 
saw  it  and  was  stimulated  to  press  his  advan 
tage.  An  encore  being  demanded,  he  offered, 
as  he  explained,  "the  wholesome  warning  con 
veyed  in  the  story  of  a  Scottish  lassie,  Maggie, 
as  related  by  one  who  had  evidently  suffered." 
He  sang,  alternating  with  recitative,  the  verses 
telling  of  one  Duncan  Grey,  who  had  visited  a 
country  house  with  the  express  purpose  of  wooing 
the  fair  daughter  thereof.  "Even  as  you  and 
I,"  thought  more  than  one  of  his  hearers,  as 
many  another  has  thought  since.  "It  appears," 
said  Douglas,  "that  the  Maggie  of  the  poet 
knew  her  power.  Her  heart  was  hardened  to 
her  lover.  She  enjoyed  his  pain.  She  'cast 
her  head  full  high,'  and  scorned  poor  Duncan 
when  he  begged  and  prayed,  even  when  he 


ii6  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

threatened  suicide — 'spak'o*  loupin  o'er  a  linn.' 
Finally,   seeing  that 

"Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide 
And  slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide, 

Duncan  resolved  to  pull  himself  together  and  go 
about  his  business.     A  worm  will  turn  ! 

"'Shall  I  like  a  fool,'  quoth  he, 
*  For  a  haughty  hizzie  dee  ? 
She  may  go  to  —  France  for  me.' 

The   wisdom   of   this   course    was    immediately 
justified :  — 

"  How  it  came,  let  doctors  tell. 

Meg  grew  sick  —  as  he  grew  heal. 

Something  in  her  bosom  wrings : 

For  relief  a  sigh  she  brings ; 

And  ah,  her  e'en  they  spake  sic  things  ! 

"Observe,"  continued  Douglas,  "the  innate 
nobility  and  magnanimity  of  my  sex.  A  woman 
now  —  the  more  he  suffered,  the  more  he  might, 
but  our  lover  had  a  noble  soul :  — 

"  Duncan  was  a  lad  of  grace; 
Maggie's  was  a  piteous  case ; 
Duncan  could  not  be  her  death  ! 
Swelling  pity  smoored  his  wrath. 
Now  —  they're  crouse  and  happy  both  !" 

And  crouse  (cheerful)  and  happy  was  the  party 
when,  at  a  late  hour,  it  broke  up.  "He  jests 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  117 

at  scars  who  never  felt  a  wound,"  whispered 
Blake,  in  bidding  Shirley  good  night. 

Soon  the  lights  were  out,  and  the  moon  and 
stars  looked  down  upon  a  hushed  household,  — 
hushed,  but  not  asleep — at  least  not  all  of  its 
inmates. 

The  place  assigned  to  Douglas  that  night  was 
upon  a  sofa  in  the  parlour.  He  did  not  occupy 
it.  He  walked  far  out  on  the  avenue,  returned, 
and  walked  again.  His  visit  would  end  the 
next  day.  Reacting  from  the  elation  of  the 
morning,  he  was  now  persuaded  from  Shirley's 
manner  that  she  did  not  care  for  him.  He  had 
come  a  week  before,  resolved  to  tell  her  of  his 
love  for  her ;  how  he  had  loved  her  ever  since  his 
boyhood,  how  he  had  cherished  her  image  all 
through  his  university  life,  and  studied  and 
taken  honours  for  her  sake.  How  her  dear  face 
had  been  the  companion  of  all  his  travels  —  in 
the  snows  of  Switzerland  or  under  Italian  skies ; 
how  he  had  come  home  to  win  her.  Now  she 
would  never  know  it !  He  was  not  the  man 
to  importune  any  woman  ! 

All  at  once  he  thrilled  with  a  sudden  resolu 
tion.  Stealing  into  the  drawing-room,  he  found 
his  guitar.  He  knew  that  Shirley  and  Dorothea 
slept  in  the  "wing"  built  against  the  Doctor's 


u8  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

bedroom.  He  crept  noiselessly  close  to  the  one 
window  that  looked  into  the  garden.  The 
Doctor  might  hear, — others  might  hear,  —  and 
Shirley,  in  her  deep  young  sleep,  might  hear 
nothing  !  No  matter.  He  was  only  a  serenader ; 
that  was  too  common  an  incident  to  awaken 
interest  or  surprise.  Tuning  his  instrument 
softly,  he  drew  near  to  the  casement,  and  with 
all  the  passion  of  his  heavily  burdened  heart, 
sang  that  most  tender  song,  of  the  most  ardent 
of  lovers  :  — 

"  My  love  is  like  a  red,  red  rose 

That's  newly  sprung  in  June ; 
My  love  is  like  the  melody 

That's  sweetly  played  in  tune ; 
And  thou  art  fair,  my  dearest  dear ! 

And  none  can  love  as  I  ! 
And  I  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 

"  Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 

And  the  rocks  melt  with  the  sun  ! 
I  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run  !  " 

Something  soft  fell  on  the  strings  of  his  guitar. 
Looking  up,  he  beheld  Dorothea's  night-capped 
head  between  the  half-closed  shutters,  and  her 
little  brown  out-thrust  arm.  "Here's  a  rose 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  119 

for  you,  Douglas,"  she  whispered,  disappearing 
with  a  suddenness  that  suggested  prompt  action 
on  the  part  of  some  one  within.  He  picked  up 
the  flower,  put  it  in  his  bosom,  and  as  he  slowly 
departed,  the  tender  impassioned  words  floated 
back  :  — 

"  Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 

And  the  rocks  melt  with  the  sun ! 
I  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 

While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run  ! " 

He  had  told  her  —  he  had  said  it !  It  was  a 
vow,  whether  she  heard  it  or  no. 

He  sat  long  on  the  door-step,  in  a  state  of 
exaltation.  Presently  he  felt  something  cold 
touch  his  hand.  Flora  had  left  her  little  family 
at  the  stable,  and  come  around  the  house  to  see 
who  this  early  morning  singer  might  be.  He 
laid  a  caressing  hand  on  the  dog's  head,  and  kept 
her  beside  him.  Not  until  the  crimson  glory 
streamed  up  from  the  east  did  he  enter  the 
house  and  throw  himself  on  the  couch  prepared 
for  him. 

Meanwhile  the  Colonel,  in  the  small  room 
behind  the  office,  thought  long  and  seriously  of 
his  morning  talk  with  Douglas ;  with  the  result 
that  the  next  mail  to  England  bore  this  letter 
to  the  American  Minister  : — 


120  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

MY  DEAR  MR.  BANCROFT, 

I  have  not  thanked  you  for  your  kindness  to  Douglas 
Newton,  in  response  to  my  letters  introducing  him.  I 
hoped  for  nothing  more  than  the  honour  of  having  my 
young  friend  meet  you.  It  has  been  a  great  happiness  to 
learn  from  him  of  your  cordial  welcome  and  his  delightful 
visit  to  you.  I  recall  vividly  similar  kindness  to  myself 
when  I,  a  raw  college  graduate,  met  you  at  Heidelberg, 
crowned  with  your  Gottingen  honours  and  already  a  fixed 
star  in  the  literary  firmament. 

We  are  still,  in  this  country,  jubilant  over  our  Mexican 
triumphs,  and  we  have,  as  you  know,  placed  the  military 
hero  in  the  chair  vacated  by  the  statesman.  Many  of  us 
—  stubborn  Old  Line  Whigs  although  we  be  —  would  have 
liked  to  see  the  chair  filled  by  the  majestic  figure  of  Win- 
field  Scott,  than  whom  the  Almighty  never  made  a  braver 
or  nobler  man.  How  far  we  may  err  in  making  our  highest 
office  a  spoil  of  war  instead  of  a  place  of  hard  service  re 
quiring  a  special  training  and  fitness  remains  to  be  seen. 
At  the  present  moment  in  this  country  the  sword  is  might 
ier  than  the  pen.  It  has  just  decapitated  your  friend 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  taken  from  him  a  government 
office  at  Salem.  Unable  to  dig  and  ashamed  to  beg, 
Hawthorne  is  now  engaged  in  another  business,  —  novel- 
writing, —  which  is,  I  am  told,  quite  as  lucrative  an  indus 
try  as  any. 

But  I  must  not,  in  the  delight  of  writing  to  you,  forget 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  121 

that  you  are  a  busy  man.  I  am  at  present  in  a  house 
full  of  young  men  and  women,  —  the  veriest  children,  all  of 
them,  —  and  small  use  have  they  for  an  old  fellow  !  Your 
friend,  Newton,  is  one  of  them  ;  soon,  I  think,  to  marry  an 
interesting  member  of  the  Page  family.  At  the  present 
midnight  moment  I  hear  in  the  distance  the  twang  of  a 
guitar,  and  make  no  doubt  he  is  pouring  out  his  soul  under 
her  window. 

By  the  bye,  he  has  brought  with  him  a  Mr.  Blake,  who 
was  thrown  with  him  on  board  ship  and  afterwards  pre 
sented  by  him  to  you.  I  am  surprised  to  find  that  he  knew 
too  little  of  Blake  before  he  did  so,  and  now  it  seems  some 
thing  has  arisen  between  the  young  men  which  constrains 
Newton  to  withdraw  all  acquaintance  with  Blake  after 
this  visit  is  over.  I  mention  it  lest  the  latter  should  make 
demands,  warranted  apparently  by  us,  upon  your  courtesy, 
that  you  may  know  simply  that  we  no  longer  know  him! 
But  I  must  not  trespass  upon  your  indulgence.  I  am, 
with  great  respect  and  gratitude, 

Faithfully  your  friend, 
JAMES  MADDOCK  JONES. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  next  morning  Douglas  knocked  at  Dr. 
Berkeley's  door.  "Here  I  am,  Doctor  !  Pizarro 
says  you  sent  for  me.  What  an  ideal  office  you 
have  here  !" 

"Walk  in !  You  see  Dorothea  and  James 
have  driven  me  from  my  office  in  the  yard,  and 
Mary  had  to  take  me  in  with  my  bottles.  The 
trouble  here  is  I  can't  keep  Dorothea  out  of  my 
sanctum.  She  insists  on  mixing  Carminative 
for  the  babies,  and  makes  bread-pills  on  the 
marble  table.  She  has  applied  for  the  position 
of  medical  assistant.  She  always  has  a  patient, 
—  somebody  who  must  take  nourishment  every 
two  hours,  or  a  cut  finger  to  dress  for  some  little 
darkey." 

"Dorothea  is  a  dear,"  said  Douglas.  "I 
envy  her  privileges.  I  am  sure  she  is  never  un 
welcome.  She  is  an  angel  in  the  house." 

"But  you  see,"  laughed  the  Doctor,  "the 
angel  learns  too  much  about  the  house.  I  can't 
for  the  life  of  me  keep  a  secret  from  her.  About 
a  year  ago  —  I  don't  think  she  knows  much 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  123 

better  now  —  the  Bishop  called  when  we  were 
out  on  a  drive,  and  she  was  afraid  he  would 
leave  before  our  return.  She  begged  him  to 
stay,  and  offered  him  an  inducement :  *  If  you'll 
wait,  I'll  show  you  Mrs.  Black's  tumour  !" 

"The  darling  child  !     I'm  devoted  to  her." 

"I  advise  you  to  restrain  your  feelings  in  the 
Colonel's  presence.  He  has  prior  claims,  and 
might  give  you  trouble." 

The  Doctor  had  been  walking  about  as  he 
talked,  taking  down  and  replacing,  one  after 
another,  books  from  the  shelves. 

"But  I  must  not  keep  you,"  he  said,  pausing. 
"  I  sent  for  you  because  I  want  to  give  you  some 
powders  and  caution  you  a  bit.  You  already 
have  traces  of  malaria  in  your  system,  and  we 
must  clear  it  out  before  the  chill-and-fever 


season.'1 


"I  am  perfectly  well,  Doctor!" 

'You  think  so,  but  you  are  not.  Now  I  want 
you  to  take  these  powders  three  times  a  day  for 
two  or  three  weeks.  Keep  out  of  the  night  air 
while  you  are  taking  them.  Miss  Anne  must 
do  without  serenades  for  a  short  time,"  he 
added,  smiling. 

"She  will  not  miss  them,"  said  Douglas. 
"She  has  never  had  them." 


124  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "symptoms  are 
against  you ;  almost  as  clearly  exhibited  as 
your  malaria  !" 

"I  never  serenaded  Miss  Page,"  said  Douglas, 
gravely;  "she  knows  I  never  did." 

He  walked  to  the  mantel,  picked  up  a  bit  of 
mineral  ore  and  examined  it  with  critical  interest. 
Turning  with  a  sudden  impulse,  he  said  with 
emotion  :  "There  is  but  one  woman  in  all  the 
world  for  me  !  My  song  last  night  was  for  her  ! 
Whether  she  accepts  it  or  not,  my  life  is  sacredly 
vowed  to  —  Shirley." 

Accustomed  as  he  had  become  to  the  Doctor's 
sure  sympathy  in  all  that  concerned  himself, 
he  unconsciously  looked  for  it  now.  To  his 
surprise,  the  Doctor  seemed  strangely  agitated. 
He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  long  before 
he  could  command  himself. 

"Have  you  spoken  to  Shirley?"  he  asked 
at  last,  in  a  low,  strained  voice. 

"  Never  !     Only  last  night  under  her  window  ! " 

"My  boy,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  suppose  I 
might  have  expected  this.  But  I  didn't.  In 
all  kindness,  but  in  all  truth,  I  must  tell  you  I 
can  never  consent  to  give  my  girl  to  you  — 
never,  never !  There  is  an  insuperable  obstacle 
to  your  union  which  can  never  be  evaded  or 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  125 

overcome.  No,  no,  listen  to  me  !  I  know  of 
nothing  to  your  personal  disadvantage.  I  con 
sider  myself  comparatively  a  poor  man.  I 
believe  you  to  be,  on  the  contrary,  able  to  live 
in  great  ease  and  opulence.  Your  estate  is  the 
finest  in  the  county  —  but,"  he  paused  and 
added  sternly  and  with  emphasis,  "the  mistress 
of  that  home  my  daughter  can  never  be.  I  for 
bid  you  to  ask  it  of  her  !  The  reason  I  can  never 
tell  you." 

The  young  man  looked  at  his  old  friend  darkly, 
and  with  resentful  surprise.  His  face  was  set 
and  hard.  "And  what  if  I  refuse  —  as  I  do 
refuse  —  to  obey  you  without  reason  !  Am  I 
to  stand  and  submit  quietly  to  a  stab  in  the 
dark?" 

The  Doctor's  anguish  was  distressing.  "  Doug 
las,  my  boy  -  '  he  almost  sobbed,  "  I  know 
it  is  hard  !  I  beseech  you  then  !  I  entreat  you 
-  have  patience  !  Promise  me  only  this  much, 
that  you  will  not  reveal  yourself  to  Shirley  by 
look,  word,  or  deed  for  one  year,  only  one  year  ! 
At  the  end  of  that  time  —  no,  I  cannot  even 
then  consent  —  but  at  least  I  will  tell  you  the 
reason.  Is  this  too  much  to  ask  ?  My  girl  — 
God  help  her  —  is  but  seventeen." 

"It  is  much,"  said  Douglas,  "but  —  I  promise  ! 


126 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 


I  can  wait. "  And  turning  to  the  door,  he  affected 
to  ignore  the  Doctor's  proffered  hand  and  ap 
peared  no  more  until  the  party  was  taking  leave. 

On  the  veranda,  all  was  bustle  and  compli 
ment  and  promise  of  return.  There  were  hearts 
among  the  laughing  little  company  that  ached 
at  parting.  Douglas  passed  through  a  rear  door 
to  the  garden  to  steady  his  nerves.  There  he 
found  Andy  and  questioned  him  about  the  re 
turn  of  the  letter  to  its  owner.  He  then  paused 
for  a  last  look  at  the  lovely  garden  before  re- 
entering  the  house.  Dorothea,  according  to  her 
custom,  had  also  visited  Andy  for  her  morning 
flowers,  arriving  just  as  Douglas  was  about  to 
leave.  Taking  her  little  basket  from  her  arm, 
he  asked  her  permission  to  escort  her  to  the 
house.  She  looked  so  sad  that  he  said  gently, 
"I  really  believe, Dolly, you  are  sorry  to  lose  me." 
The  child's  lip  quivered.  "I  am,"  she  said, 
"and  Shirley  is  dref'fly  sorry  about  something. 
She  cried  last  night.  Her  pillow  was  all  wet 
this  morning." 

"Where  is  she  now,  Dolly  ?" 

"She  came  down  the  garden  with  me,  and 
when  she  saw  you,  she  went  and  hid  behind  the 
big  crepe  myrtle.  I  reckon  her  eyes  are  red." 

"Run   in,   Dolly  darling,   I'll  follow.     Here! 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  127 

Here  is  the  peach-stone  basket  I  promised  to 
cut  for  you.  Run  in  the  house  and  show  it  to 
your  mother." 

But  his  second  thought  checked  the  ardent 
impulse.  His  promise !  And  why  should  he 
suppose  she  cared  ?  "She  has  treated  me  with 
polite  indifference  all  the  time,"  he  thought. 
"Why  should  I  imagine  her  tears  were  for  me  ? 
How  do  I  know  she  ever  heard  me  ?  It  seems 
she  hid  from  me,  and  I  shall  certainly  not  in 
trude  upon  her." 

Taking  Dorothea's  basket  again,  he  accom 
panied  her  to  the  house. 

Shirley  sped  to  her  room,  bathed  her  eyes, 
put  a  rose  in  her  hair,  and  was  the  gayest  of  the 
gay  all  morning.  When  the  hour  of  departure 
came,  there  were  many  regrets,  jests,  promises 
of  return,  and  protestations  that  never  had  there 
been  such  a  delightful  house-party. 

Everybody  was  talking,  laughing,  and  jesting 
when  the  gardener  appeared.  "Ah,"  said  Mr. 
Blake,  "it  wanted  but  this  !  Here  comes  our 
friend  Andy,  doubtless  with  a  flower  for  each  of 


us.': 


The  gardener  looked  at  him  sourly  and  ten 
dered  the  letter.  "I'm  thinkin',  sir,  you  lost 
this,"  he  said. 


128  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

Blake  took  the  rose-coloured  missive,  crushed 
it  in  his  hand,  and  said  hotly,  "And  I'm  thinking, 
fellow,  that  you've  taken  your  own  time  in 
returning  it."  Recovering  himself,  however, 
as  he  saw  curious  glances  around  the  company, 
he  said  lightly,  "It's  of  no  consequence,  how 


ever." 


"That  was  mine  ain  opeenion  when  I  read  it," 
said  Angus,  "but  Mr.  Douglas  here  has  mair 
wisdom  in  sic  things,  and  he  said  you'd  be  sair 
to  lose  it." 

"By  George  !"  exclaimed  Blake,  "two  readers 
to  sit  in  judgment  upon  my  affairs  !  Where 
was  the  address  ?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  Blake,"  said  Douglas,  calmly. 
"Angus  naturally  gave  the  letter  to  the  first  one 
of  us  he  met,  who  happened  to  be  myself.  I 
did  not  observe  the  address  on  the  back  until 
I  saw  the  signature.  I  told  him  to  restore  it 
to  you,  but  he  has  had  no  opportunity,  I 
presume." 

•  "All  right,"  said  Blake,  swallowing  his  chagrin 
and  anger,  and  tendering  a  piece  of  silver  to  the 
gardener. 

"Na,  na,"  said  Angus,  with  a  bow  of  mock 
humility.  "Pit  oop  your  siller!  Keep  it  to 
win  its  way  some  ither  gate  !  Angus  McGilli- 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  129 

cuddy  will  nane  of  it,"  and  he  strode  off  to  his 
barrow  outside  the  enclosure.  The  situation 
was  rather  embarrassing,  but  Tom  Blackwell 
immediately  relieved  it  by  seizing  upon  Dorothea 
as  she  appeared  on  the  scene  with  the  Colonel. 

"I  think,  Dolly,"  said  he,  "that  as  you  were 
so  hard  on  me  at  breakfast  the  other  morning 
you  might  give  me  a  good-bye  kiss." 

The  child  smiled,  but  shook  her  head. 

"Very  proper,  Your  Grace,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"Duchesses  never  kiss  their  subjects.  Only 
their  Cousin  Jameses  !" 

"That  is  what  I  told  Mr.  Blake,"  said  Doro 
thea. 

"You  see,  Blake,"  said  Tom,  "you  have  your 
limitations  -  -  you  can  sing  a  good  song,  but  you 
can't  come  to  people's  houses  and  claim  priv 
ileges  denied  old  friends  and  correspondents." 

Mr.  Blake's  visit  to  Newton  Hall  had  not  been 
followed  by  invitations  to  other  country  houses, 
and  he  took  final  leave,  announcing  his  departure 
for  the  next  day.  He  expected,  he  said,  to  go 
abroad. 

"Shall  we  not  see  you  again,  Douglas,  before 
we  leave  for  the  Springs  ?"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley. 

"I  fear  not.  Mrs.  Page  has  kindly  invited 
me  for  next  week,  and  I  believe  Miss  Anne  will 


130  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

permit  me  to  accept,"  he  answered,  smiling  at 
the  mocking  expression  on  the  face  of  the  little 
lady. 

"Oh,  I'll  share  my  bread  and  salt  with  him  ! 
That  involves  nothing,  I  believe,  except  that 
I  must  hide  my  dagger  under  my  caftan  while 
he  is  in  my  tent.  Afterwards  ?  Well,  that 
depends." 

All  this  sounded  intimate  and  significant,  and 
was  interpreted  by  Shirley  as  evidence  of  a 
perfect  understanding  between  the  two. 

"By  the  bye,"  asked  Mrs.  Berkeley,  "what 
do  you  hear  from  Harry  ?" 

"Oh,  Harry  is  *  conditioned,'  you  know.  He 
was  a  little  too  miserable  to  live  last  winter  — 
low  down  —  despairing.  He  consoled  himself 
with  a  large  dose  of  Calithump  —  'Calithump'  ? 
I  thought  everybody  knew  the  meaning  of  that 
noble  word.  It  means  general  insubordination, 
infernal  noises  at  night  —  bands  of  musicians 
with  horns,  bells,  chains,  drums,  tin-pans.  Harry 
and  I  agreed  that  he  must  study  at  the  University 
all  summer  if  he  expected  Mr.  Minor  to  give 
him  his  degree  next  year." 

"I  wonder  if  that  will  cure  him,"  remarked 
Anne,  thoughtfully. 

"Probably   not,"   said  Douglas.     "I'll   bring 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  131 

him  home  next  Christmas  and  discipline  him 
here.  He  has  a  complication  of  infirmities. 
His  case  is  similar  to  the  immortal  Duncan's 
in  some  respects." 

So,  jesting  and  laughing,  they  took  their 
places  in  the  old-fashioned  coach  belonging  to 
the  Newton s  that  had  brought  them,  protesting 
that  never  in  the  past  had  there  been,  never  in 
the  future  could  there  be,  so  utterly  delightful 
a  visit  anywhere  to  anybody.  Mr.  Blake  was 
accommodated  with  a  buggy  to  himself. 

The  coach  held  four  inside,  and  two  on  the 
box.  Douglas  claimed  the  driver's  seat  behind 
his  own  four  bays,  now  dancing  with  impatience 
to  be  off.  As  he  clambered  up  to  his  place  the 
Colonel  called  to  him. 

"Be  careful  of  your  leaders,  Newton.  I  see 
you  have  Castor  and  Pollux.  Miss  Anne  says 
she  wishes  you'd  let  Uncle  Edinboro'  drive. 
She's  afraid  to  trust  you." 

"  She  doesn't  mean  it !  She  has  told  me 
another  story !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have 
promised  her  this  seat  beside  me,  and  a  lesson 
in  driving  four-in-hand.  Uncle  Edinboro'  has 
my  horse,  and  will  open  the  gates,"  which  asser 
tion  was  immediately  verified  by  the  young  lady 
who  climbed  with  alacrity  into  the  vacant  seat, 


132  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Tom  Blackwell,  to  his  great  content,  making  a 
fourth  inside.  Poor  Shirley  felt  that  no  more 
was  needed  !  "Understanding"  indeed  !  Every 
thing  was  settled  between  them  !  As  she  turned 
to  reenter  the  house  she  pleaded  weariness, 
headache.,  and  begged  for  quiet  possession  of  her 
own  room.  Dorothea,  on  her  way  to  rehabilitate 
her  room  in  the  office,  saw  a  white  arm  thrust 
out  of  the  window,  and  the  shutters  closely  drawn 
in. 

Mr.  Blake,  despite  his  monumental  self- 
esteem,  was  aware  of  a  sudden  chill  in  the  at 
mosphere  and  accepted  Mrs.  Carrington's  in 
vitation  for  the  night,  sending  his  valet  on  to 
Beechwood  for  his  luggage.  He  was  invited  to 
no  other  house,  and  left  next  day.  He  had  not 
been  altogether  trusted  by  the  young  men  of 
the  party  at  Berkeley  Castle.  They  challenged 
their  own  feelings,  suspicious  lest  sectional 
prejudice  —  unworthy  in  entertaining  a  guest  — 
might  have  warped  their  judgment.  Indeed, 
judgment  is  rarely  the  controlling  power  in  our 
society  likes  and  dislikes.  The  argument  against 
liking  Doctor  Fell  is  the  only  one  we  acknowledge 
or  can  invent. 

Blake  was  indifferent  as  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned.  He  considered  the  loss  theirs,  not  his 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  133 

own.  He  was  going  to  New  York  to  prepare, 
not  for  sailing,  but  for  spending  the  season  at 
the  White  Sulphur  Springs  —  a  recently  formed 
plan  which  he  kept  to  himself.  He  was  delighted 
to  discover  that  he  was  really  almost  in  love  ! 
There  was  something  stimulating,  fascinating, 
in  the  bare  idea.  He  could  not  remember  ever 
having  been  truly,  really,  in  love.  As  to  any 
result  —  why,  that  might  be  determined  later. 
For  perfect  enjoyment  of  a  watering-place 
season,  nothing  could  be  better  than  to  be  al 
most  in  love  with  a  beautiful  distingue  Virginia 
woman  —  so  fresh,  so  unlike  anything  he  had 
hitherto  known.  Apparently  he  had  no  rivals. 
That  was  unfortunate.  Rivals  would  give 
additional  zest  to  the  situation.  They  would 
certainly  appear  at  the  Springs,  and  he  would 
give  them  a  lesson  !  Those  proud  South  Caro 
linians,  —  the  confident,  self-esteeming  Virgin 
ians  !  At  all  events,  rival  or  no  rival,  he  was 
almost  in  love  !  His  heart  was  not  as  burnt-out 
a  cinder  as  he  had  supposed. 


CHAPTER   XI 

DOUGLAS  conducted  Mrs.  Carrington  and  her 
guests  to  her  own  door,  and,  declining  her  en 
treaty  to  remain  to  dinner,  turned  the  coach 
over  to  Edinboro',  mounted  his  own  spirited 
Saladin,  and  galloped  back  to  Beechwood.  He 
longed  for  a  quiet  place  to  think  over  the  ter 
rible  thing  that  had  come  to  him. 

"Don't  disturb  me  to-night,  Uncle  Caleb, 
for  anybody,"  he  said,  as  he  dismounted,  to 
the  old  servant  who  was  a  sort  of  butler  emeritus, 
—  having  become  too  old  for  his  earlier  position 
of  coachman.  "  If  any  of  the  boys  drop  in,  give 
them  the  best  you  have,  and  tell  them  I've  gone 
to  bed  with  a  headache." 

"All  right,  Marse  Douglas  !  Dilsey  expected 
you  an'  biled  one  of  the  four-year-old  hams 
to-day." 

"Send  me  a  slice  with  a  biscuit  and  a  cup  of 
coffee  to  the  library.  No,  no  !  No  wine  to 
night  !  Here,  Sandy,  open  the  shutters  and 
help  me  off  with  my  boots.  Mind  well,  Caleb, 
nobody  —  not  if  the  Angel  Gabriel  calls." 

134 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  135 

"The  angel  Gabr'el  wouldn'  sen'  no  message 
by  Caleb,  Marse  Douglas,"  said  the  old  man, 
solemnly.  "Ef'n  de  time  done  come  fo'  him  to 
call,  he  can  take  keer  uv  his  own  business.  Jes' 
let  'im  blow  he  horn  once,  an'  you'll  be  boun' 
to  foller.  'Twon'  be  for  many  long  years  to 
come,  I  hope,  suh." 

"I  don't  hope  for  long  years,"  said  Douglas; 
"the  sooner  they  end  the  better  for  me." 

"Sh-sh,  fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  Marse  Douglas  ! 
Don'  talk  dat-er-way  !  Caesar  lay  on  his  back 
at  de  kitchen  do'  all  las'  night  howlin'  —  an'  now 
here  you  come,  suh,  talkin'  wild  and  ongawdly." 

In  the  darkness,  on  the  leather-covered  chair 
in  his  study,  Douglas  smoked  pipeful  after 
pipeful  of  strong  Virginia  tobacco,  and  agonized 
over  the  strange  news  of  the  morning.  It  was 
not  from  personal  reasons,  the  Doctor  had  said. 
There  was  nothing  against  him  personally.  His 
father,  then  —  perhaps  his  grandfather  !  Was 
there  a  black  drop  in  the  proud  Newton  blood 
—  an  ineffaceable  taint  ?  Had  there  been  a 
hidden  crime,  a  thrust  in  the  dark,  unrepented, 
unavenged  ?  He  strained  his  memory  in  vain 
endeavour  to  recall  some  mysterious  hint  dropped 
in  his  childhood  ears  which  might  afford  some 
starting-point  for  investigation. 


136  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

The  room  was  small,  and  in  his  father's  time 
had  been  known  as  the  "study."  Later,  a  few 
sparsely  filled  book-shelves  had  been  added, 
and  it  was  rechristened  "the  library."  Evi 
dently  his  father  had  not  been  much  addicted 
to  literature.  Some  of  those  old  books  —  who 
could  tell  ?  —  might  give  him  the  clue  he  coveted. 
From  the  shelves,  his  glance  rested  on  the  two 
portraits  above  them.  His  dear  mother  in  a 
thin,  scant  robe  with  a  thick  curl  resting  on  her 
sweet,  bare  bosom;  —  his  father  —  a  handsome 
face  above  his  soft  neck-cloth  and  ruffled  shirt- 
front.  Sully  had  painted  them,  and  had  caught 
or  created  an  expression  in  his  father's  eyes  of 
reproachful  brooding.  So,  at  least,  Douglas 
now  imagined.  His  father  had  died  when  he  was 
a  small  child,  his  mother  ten  years  later.  A 
sad  woman  —  yes  —  a  woman  of  frequent  tears, 
but  was  she  not  a  widow  ?  That  was  explana 
tion  enough.  Then  an  aunt,  her  maiden  sister, 
had  come  to  mother  the  two  boys.  She,  too, 
was  dead.  He  had  been  sent  out  of  the  county 
to  school  —  he  and  Harry,  and  knew  none  of 
the  neighbours  intimately  except  the  Berkeleys. 
Perhaps  eighty-year-old  Aunt  Winny  might 
know  something,  but  the  negro  was  too  emotional, 
too  superstitious,  to  be  consulted  on  vital  matters. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  137 

There  was  Mrs.  Ponsonby,  but  she  was  a  grande 
dame,  and  Douglas  shrank  from  approaching 
her.  Why,  this  was  monstrous  —  this  idea  of 
going  among  one's  neighbours  on  such  quest ! 
"Do  you  know  what  is  against  me  —  what 
taint  in  my  blood,  what  blot  on  my  escutcheon  ?" 

At  the  intolerable  suggestion,  he  sprang  from 
his  chair  and  went  out  in  the  garden.  There 
was  the  interlacing  of  white  gravelled  walks, 
dark  clumps  of  shrubbery,  long  stretch  of  hedge 
and  the  outside  trees.  There,  too,  on  the  little 
hill  beyond  was  the  gleam  of  marble  among  the 
cedars.  No  —  he  could  not  bear  to  visit  the 
spot  to-night !  There  lay  his  sweet  mother,  his 
honoured  father ;  the  father  who  had  so  honoured 
him,  leaving  him,  his  eldest  son,  the  homestead, 
and  to  Harry  the  smaller  farm  at  Cross  Roads. 
The  witnesses  to  the  will  —  might  they  not  be 
able  to  enlighten  him  ?  There  were  three  —  not 
one  of  the  three  living.  The  old  county  clerk 
was  dead.  The  will  had  been  drawn  by  Joseph 
Watkins.  —  Ah  !  Judge  Watkins  was  living  ! 

Douglas  rapidly  retraced  his  steps.  It  was 
now  late,  and  the  servants  had  left  the  house  for 
their  own  quarters  outside.  He  saw  old  Caleb, 
peacefully  smoking  a  pipe  with  his  wife  outside 
their  door  and  called  to  him.  "How  soon  must 


138  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

I  leave  here,  Uncle  Caleb,  to  reach  Judge  Wat- 
kins's  house  to  breakfast?" 

The  old  man  considered  —  "Fifteen  mile  an' 
a  ferry  to  cross.  Saladin  would  take  you  easy 
in  two  hours,  but  the  ferryman  won't  be  up  ! 
Br'er  Sam  is  gitten  sorter  ole  an'  - 

"  Ah  !  Never  mind  Br'er  Sam  and  the  ferry  ! 
There's  such  a  thing  as  swimming  —  and  the 
boys'  canoe  might  be  tied  to  the  bank.  Have 
Saladin  at  the  gate  an  hour  before  day.  I'll 
not  need  Sandy." 

"Sandy  is  gwine  along!"  said  Caleb,  stub 
bornly,  with  the  freedom  of  an  old  family  ser 
vant.  "Who  gwine  blanket  Saladin  and  walk 
'im  about  to  cool  off  arter  you  done  gallop  'im 
fifteen  mile  ?  You  kin  brek  yo'  own  neck  ef  you 
want  to,  —  but  I  sholy  is  gwine  take  keer  o' 
Saladin." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Douglas,  wearily,  as  he 
turned  away,  "have  your  own  way.  Probably 
you're  right.  I  am  not  fit  even  to  take  care  of 
Saladin.  Only  don't  let  Sandy  be  a  minute  late." 

"  Tain't  no  use  fer  you  to  try  to  manage  Marse 
Douglas,  Caleb,"  old  Dilsey  advised  between 
the  puffs  of  her  pipe. 

"Manage !  He's  too  masterful  fer  me !  I 
wish  fo'  Gawd  he'd  git  a  wife  to  manage  him." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  139 

"Marse  Douglas  ain't  no  ways  onreasonable 
ef  you  take  'im  right." 

"Dar  'tis  !  You  got  to  be  as  keerful  as  ef  he 
was  a  year-old  colt.  He'll  play  'roun'  as  sweet 
as  a  kitten,  but  jus'  you  try  to  bridle  'im,  an' 
you'll  see  'im  rar  and  tar  an'  paw  up  de  groun' ! 
When  I  see  'im  carry  on  dat-er-way,  I  dasn't 
projeck  wid  'im.  I  jus'  stan'  off  an'  giv  'im  he 
haid  an'  let  'im  run  hese'f  down." 

Caleb  smoked  with  a  spirit  too  perturbed  for 
enjoyment  of  his  prized  evening  luxury. 

"What  he  gwine  fo'  day  to  see  de  Judge 
about?"  The  old  fellow  shook  his  grey  head 
with  a  troubled  look.  "Sump'n  nurrer's  up, 
Dilsey,"  the  old  man  confided.  "Mark  my 
words.  Dere's  a  weddin'  brewin'." 

"How  'bout  Caesar  howlin'  las'  night  ?  Dog 
don'  howl  cep'n  for  death  an'  fune'al." 

"Well,  ain'  a  weddin'  next  do'  to  a  fune'al  ? 
Fust,  rejicin'  —  den  moanin'.  Fust,  pipin'  an' 
dancin',  —  den  lamentin'.  A  time  fo'  wuk  an' 
a  time  fo'  res'  an'  nothin'  new  under  de  sun  an' 
all  is  vexation  an'  vanity  o'  sperit.  Selah  !" 

In  the  face  of  such  superior  sanctity  and  learn 
ing,  the  old  wife  found  nothing  to  say.  Having 
smoked  their  pipes  silently  and  shaken  out  the 
ashes  of  departed  joys,  they  betook  themselves 
to  rest. 


CHAPTER  XII 

JUDGE  WATKINS,  an  alert,  keen-eyed  gentle 
man  with  traces  of  snuff  on  his  otherwise  spot 
less  shirt-front,  walked  out  to  the  gate  to  meet 
his  young  guest  with  many  expressions  of  hearty 
welcome.  The  Judge  was  an  attractive  figure. 
Like  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  he  wore  his 
grey  hair  combed  back  from  his  forehead  and 
tied  en  queue,  with  a  narrow  black  ribbon. 
Men  in  that  day  were  classed  as  "old  men"  at 
fifty  —  and  few  lived  beyond  that  age. 

"Mrs.  Watkins  will  be  delighted  to  see  you," 
he  said  cordially.  "We  happen  to  be  alone. 
Our  young  people  are  off  on  a  round  of  visits. 
Down,  Hero  !  Down,  sir  !  The  pointer  remem 
bers  you,  you  see!  Ah,  Saladin  !"  patting  the 
horse's  shoulder.  "Don't  feed  him  for  an  hour, 
Sandy  !  Come  in,  come  in  !  You  knew  the  way 
to  the  bowl  and  towels  on  the  back  porch  when 
you  and  my  Joe  were  boys.  Joe  has  gotten 
ahead  of  you  —  married  and  a  fine  boy.  Hurry 
up,  and  while  you  get  rid  of  the  dust,  I'll  make 
you  a  mint  julep.  Breakfast  is  just  coming  in." 

140 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  141 

Douglas  had  perceived,  before  entering  the 
house,  the  delicious  odours  from  the  kitchen  — 
boiling  coffee,  browning  biscuits,  and  an  appe 
tizing  hint  of  some  salt  relish.  His  young 
appetite  responded  with  a  bound  of  anticipation. 

If  anybody  in  all  the  world  deserved  the  one 
perfect  word  "dear,"  that  body  was  Mrs. 
Watkins.  Fifty  years  of  sweet,  pure  living, 
of  tender  affections,  of  reverent  piety,  had  written 
her  story  on  her  face,  and  added  a  charm  un 
known  to  her  girlhood  beauty.  Beneath  the 
thin  ruffle  of  her  Martha  Washington  cap,  and 
soft  bands  of  silver  hair,  eyes  looked  love  and 
benevolence  upon  all  around  her.  She  was  full 
of  kind  inquiry.  Why  had  not  Douglas  come 
before  ?  Where  was  Harry  ?  Did  Harry  look 
like  his  mother  ? 

"Now,  before  Daphne  snares  you  with  her 
waffles,  Douglas,"  said  the  Judge,  "take  a  hard 
biscuit  and  a  bit  of  this  North  Carolina  roe 
herring.  Nothing  like  it  for  an  appetizer. 
Ah  !  here  comes  the  Madame's  coffee  ! " 

The  old  Virginia  coffee  was  renowned.  No 
body  has  such  coffee  in  these  degenerate  days. 
The  Mocha  or  old  government  Java  was  roasted 
by  being  stirred  with  a  hickory  stick  in  an  open 
oven,  over  clear  coals,  until  every  berry  was 


142  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

cooked  crisp  and  brown  and  brittle  to  the  core. 
It  was  then,  in  order  to  retain  the  aroma  and 
insure  clearness,  glazed  while  hot  with  the 
white  of  an  egg ;  and  ground  on  the  moment  it 
was  needed  !  The  coffee-pot,  always  religiously 
scrubbed,  was  left  open  all  day  to  be  sweetened 
by  the  hot  sunshine.  The  coffee  was  suffered 
to  boil  up  once,  and  served  immediately  with 
sweet  cream  and  "sugar  to  taste."  Five  min 
utes'  soaking  on  its  grounds  was  deemed  enough 
to  ruin  the  finest  Mocha.  And  to  ruin  it  was  a 
sin,  and  not  a  venial  sin  either  ! 

After  breakfast  the  Judge  offered  a  pipe  to 
his  guest  on  the  veranda,  but  Douglas  declined 
to  smoke,  and  said,  with  restrained  emotion, 
"I  come  on  private  business,  Judge!  May  we 
not  have  our  talk  in  the  office  ?" 

"  You  know  I  don't  practise,  my  boy  ! "  said 
the  Judge,  as  he  led  the  way  to  a  small  build 
ing  in  the  yard.  "  I  am  about  to  hold  my 
summer  term  at  the  courthouse.  Here  is  my 
study.  Take  a  seat !  No  one  will  interrupt 


us." 


Douglas  proceeded  as  best  he  could  to  inform 
the  Judge,  telling  his  story  without  betraying 
himself  in  the  matter  closest  to  his  heart.  He 
implored  him  to  be  frank,  to  ignore  any  pain  that 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  143 

might  result  from  a  full  disclosure  of  the  truth. 
What  was  the  stigma  attaching  to  his  home  and 
following  him  and  his  brother  ? 

"  I  see  you  know  what  I  mean  —  you  under 
stand  !  I  can  bear  anything !  Tell  me  all. 
What  is  the  curse  that  follows  me  ?  Was  there 
murder,  forgery,  —  dishonour  ?" 

The  poor  Judge  was  distressed.  "I  shall 
surely  be  honest  with  you,  my  boy.  There  was 
no  murder,  no  forgery,  no  man's  fireside  violated. 
Dishonour  ?  I  leave  you  to  judge.  Certainly 
there  was  no  legal  dishonour.  When  I  was  a 
young  lawyer  here,  your  father  lived  at  the  Cross 
Roads.  You  and  your  brother  were  not  yet 
born.  Your  father  was  reckoned  a  well-to-do 
man,  careful,  shrewd;  had  inherited  money 
rather  than  land,  and  lent  this  money  on  terms 
deemed  liberal  for  the  times  —  I  mean  liberal 
to  himself!  His  friend  and  college  mate,  Robert 
Benson,  had  inherited  the  fine  estate  of  Beech- 
wood;  had  little  money,  was  a  careless  farmer, 
wild,  extravagant,  kept  fine  horses  and  costly 
wines,  was  foolishly  kind-hearted.  He  lived 
freely,  was  security  for  anybody  that  asked  it, 
ready  to  go  on  any  man's  bond ;  lost  at  horse- 
racing  ;  lost  at  cards ;  —  and  finally  he  was  in 
a  tight  place,  and  borrowed  from  your  father. 


144  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

Mr.  Newton  hesitated  when  the  loan  was  re 
quested,  and  Benson  voluntarily  gave  him  a 
mortgage  on  Beechwood.  Your  father  almost 
immediately  foreclosed  the  mortgage  and  the 
estate  was  offered  at  public  sale.  The  times 
were  hard,  money  tight,  and  everybody  poor, 
crops  had  not  been  harvested,  and  your  father 
was  the  only  bidder.  The  estate  was  knocked 
down  to  him  for  five  thousand  dollars.  It  was 
worth  even  then  Fifty  Thousand  !  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  indignation  expressed  throughout 
the  community.  Men  believed  that  the  acqui 
sition  of  the  property  had  been  from  the  first 
the  incentive  to  previous  small  loans.  Your 
father  was  practically  ostracized,  and  I  have 
reason  to  believe  his  death,  occurring  five  years 
later,  may  have  been  hastened  by  his  chagrin." 
"Did  he  never  offer  restitution  ?" 
"None  that  I  know  of.  He  moved  at  once 
over  to  Beechwood.  From  the  sale  of  farm 
utensils,  household  effects,  etc.,  Benson  realized 
a  sum  with  which  he  bought  a  small  place  not 
far  from  Berkeley  Castle.  I  have  learned  that 
his  whole  life  was  completely  changed.  He  is 
said  to  be  extremely  sour  and  morose,  —  living 
to  himself,  unapproachable  and  unapproached. 
No  children  except  one  daughter,  lately  married, 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  145 

I  understand,  to  one  Wilson.  I  don't  know 
which  family  of  Wilsons." 

Douglas  sat  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his 
bosom.  Beads  of  perspiration  gathered  on  his 
knit  brows,  and  his  mouth  was  set  and  hard. 
He  sat  thus  so  long  that  the  Judge  was  at  a  loss 
to  divine  the  trend  of  his  thoughts.  The  poor 
Judge  felt  keen  sympathy  for  the  handsome 
bowed  head.  "What  was  the  amount  of  Mr. 
Benson's  indebtedness  to  my  father  ?"  he  asked, 
without  changing  his  position  or  raising  his  eyes. 

"Papers  were  drawn  up  in  a  final  settlement 
which  you  will  find  in  the  clerk's  office.  The 
amount  due  was  something  over  five  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  the  difference  waived  by  your 
father.  The  transaction  was  strictly  legal,  — 
nobody  questioned  that, — but  the  sentiment  of 
the  community  was  decided.  No  time  and  little 
notice  had  been  given  Benson  to  raise  the 
money.  It  was  denounced  in  the  sternest 
terms  —  and  his  creditor's  action  was  freely 
branded  as  'infamous.'  The  hints  to  that 
effect  which  you  have  received  are  the  dying 
ripples  —  let  us  hope  —  of  a  great  wave  of 
indignation." 

" Which  was  fully  justified!"  said  Douglas,  as 
he  rose  and  with  nervous  hands  grasped  the 


146  THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 

back  of  his  chair.  "You  said  you  no  longer 
practised  law  —  but  you  will,  I  trust,  draw  up  a 
paper  for  me." 

"Certainly  —  with  pleasure." 

"Then,"  said  Douglas,  with  his  fine  face 
uplifted,  "  I  no  longer  own  Beechwood  !  I  give 
it  back  to  Mr.  Benson." 

The  Judge  started  from  his  seat.  "My  dear 
sir !  Think  well  before  you  do  so  irreparable  a 
thing  !  You  will  surely  regret  it !  Beechwood 
is  the  finest  estate  in  the  county.  When  I  last 
saw  it,  it  seemed  to  me  the  fields  just  smiled  up 
to  the  Creator.  The  house  is  one  of  the  best, 
most  substantial  in  Virginia.  Your  manager 
has  been  judicious,  I  learn.  You  have  lived 
freely,  travelled,  and  yet  saved  something. 
Your  future  is  bright.  There  is  talk  already  of 
sending  you  to  Congress  in  Jack  Randolph's 
place." 

"All  this  I  know,"  Douglas  replied,  —  "all 
this  and  more.  But  I  cannot  be  moved.  To 
morrow  Wingfield  will  commence  removing  my 
stock  and  furniture  to  Harry's  place  at  Cross 
Roads,  and  as  soon  as  your  paper  is  ready,  I 
will  sign  it,  and  thank  you  to  see  it  is  delivered  to 
Mr.  Benson.  It  is  not  necessary  I  should  see 
him?" 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  147 

"Not  at  all !  The  paper  —  a  brief  one  —  will 
need  only  your  signature." 

"Then  why  not  write  it  now  ?  You  will  do 
me  a  great  favour.  The  day  is  young.  You  will 
soon  be  occupied  with  your  judicial  duties. 
You  see,  dear  Judge,  I  shall  hope  to  keep  the 
matter  between  ourselves  until  I  give  posses 
sion,  and  I  must  rely  upon  your  confidential 
friendship." 

"  Surely,  my  boy,  and  as  a  friend,  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  warn  you  of  consequences  before  you 
do  this  thing.  You  must  remember  every 
embarrassment  and  complication.  The  world 
may  applaud  you  as  magnificent,  with  a  roman 
tic  sense  of  honour,  but  it  is  just  as  likely  to 
esteem  you  quixotic,  eccentric,  foolish.  If  the 
latter  opinion  prevails,  good-bye  to  political 
preferment  or  legal  success.  It  takes  the  genius 
of  a  John  Randolph  to  make  men  excuse  eccen 
tric  behaviour." 

Douglas  listened  long  and  respectfully  to 
more  in  this  strain,  but  calmly  persisted  in 
requesting  the  Judge  to  prepare  a  transfer  in 
fee  simple  of  the  plantation  of  Beechwood  and 
all  the  buildings  thereon,  reserving  only  the 
enclosure  on  the  hill  already  tenanted  by  the 
graves  of  his  parents.  Upon  this  the  Judge's 


i48  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

manner  totally  changed.  Springing  like  a  boy 
from  his  chair,  he  embraced  the  young  man, 
dashed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  together 
they  proceeded  to  the  details  of  the  transfer. 
Punctilious  as  he  had  learned  to  be  in  keeping 
the  secrets  of  his  clients,  he  could  not,  after 
Douglas  left,  resist  the  temptation  to  confide 
to  his  tearful  wife  an  account  of  the  unique 
transaction,-  "the  finest  thing,"  he  declared, 
"I  have  ever  known  in  my  profession.  Noth 
ing  nobler  will  ever  be  recorded  in  the  books. 
The  boy  did  not  hesitate  an  instant !  No 
painstaking  search  to  find  the  path  of  duty  ! 
No  reading  his  Bible  and  saying  his  prayers 
over  it !  He  made  me  feel  that  I  wronged  him 
by  even  a  suggestion  of  any  other  course." 

"Home,  Saladin  !"  said  Douglas,  as  he  vaulted 
into  the  saddle  and  felt  his  first  pang  —  "  Home  I " 

He  arrived  late  in  the  evening  —  having  fa 
voured  the  horses  by  a  long  rest  during  the  heat 
of  the  day,  beside  a  stream  in  the  woods  —  and 
was  again  in  the  little  library  with  his  slight 
supper  which  he  left  untasted.  He  felt  no  need 
of  sleep.  Dismissing  his  valet  and  sending  old 
Caleb  grumbling  home  to  his  own  cabin,  he 
folded  his  arms  and  leaned  back  in  the  armchair 
in  which  he  had  stolen  so  many  a  nap  when  a 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  149 

tired  boy.  Candles  burned  in  branched  silver 
candelabra.  A  little  silver  tray  with  " snuffers" 
lay  beside  them,  and  on  the  table  were  writing 
materials. 

He  had  a  letter  to  write.  Harry  must  be 
fully  informed  of  everything,  and  the  reasons 
that  forced  his  brother's  action.  All  this 
he  told  concisely  but  fully,  and  then  paused 
to  think  in  what  words  he  might  best  com 
fort  the  boy.  As  he  raised  his  eyes,  they 
were  met  by  the  dark  eyes  of  the  portrait, 
—  and  to  Douglas's  excited  imagination  the 
eyes  wore  a  new  expression.  He  looked  at 
them,  wondering  he  had  not  before  observed 
their  depth,  and  then  turned  to  his  open  let 
ter. —  "And  now,  Hal,"  he  wrote,  "I  fancy 
I  feel  your  hearty  slap  on  my  shoulder  and 
hear  you  say,  *  Bully  for  you,  brother !  It 
is  all  right  !  You  have  done  nobly.  You  have 
righted  a  great  wrong.'  But  remember,  Harry, 
I  must  never  be  commended.  Praise  of  me 
implies  censure  of  our  father.  It  is  not  for  us  to 
judge  him.  He  is  not  here  to  vindicate  himself. 
Nobody  knows  all  the  truth.  He  may  have  had 
reasons  of  which  we  know  nothing.  We  must 
allow  no  one  to  discuss  the  matter  with  us.  We 
stand  alone  in  the  world,  you  and  I,  and  what- 


ISO  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

ever  is  won  from  that  world  must  be  of  our  own 
winning,  at  its  own  value  and  not  because  of  our 
misfortune  —  not  by  contrast  with  our  father  ! 
Whatever  the  world  may  have  thought  of  him, 
to  us  he  must  be  always  our  honoured  father. 
Our  mother  loved  him!  And  he  died  so  young. 
Had  he  lived,  he  might  have  done  just  what  I 
have  been  moved  to  do." 

Douglas,  like  the  sons  of  Noah,  walked  back 
ward  that  he  might  not  see  —  although  he  knew 
—  his  father's  shame. 

The  lights  soon  attracted  the  nocturnal  beetles 
of  the  South,  so  he  extinguished  them  and  sat 
in  darkness  until  the  beams  of  the  late  rising 
moon  flooded  the  room.  The  elation  which 
always  accompanies  the  conception  of  a  high 
thought  and  consequent  performance  of  a  noble 
action  had  not  yet  subsided.  The  "soul's 
star"  was  still  in  the  ascendant !  It  had  not 
gone  down  and  abandoned  the  finite  mortal  to 
the  powers  of  darkness  —  to  fear,  doubt,  sense 
of  defeat,  helpless  loneliness. 

He  fully  vindicated  Dr.  Berkeley.  Shirley  — 
pure,  peerless  —  could  never  have  come  to  be 
mistress  in  these  halls  won  by  fraud.  He  had 
lost  her ;  but  of  that  he  would  not  now  think. 
He  could  set  up  her  altar  in  his  heart  if  not  his 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  151 

home,  and  dedicate  to  her  all  that  was  best  in 
his  life. 

But  as  the  night  wore  on,  the  soul's  star  moved 
to  its  setting.  Thoughts  of  damaged  reputation, 
of  lost  prestige,  of  failure  surged  over  him.  He 
could  dimly  see  the  portrait  of  his  father  as  it 
looked  down  upon  him  over  the  book-shelves. 
"Oh,  my  father!"  he  cried  out  in  anguish, 
"how  could  you  ?"  The  moon  passed  from 
behind  a  little  cloud  as  he  spoke,  and  by  the 
wavering  light,  he  fancied  a  smile  on  the  closed 
lips.  The  eyes  were  deep  and  sad,  — but  surely 
the  lips  smiled.  Lest  it  should  have  been  the 
dazzle,  the  glamour  that  comes  in  overwearied 
eyes,  he  closed  his  own  for  a  moment !  When 
he  opened  them  —  there  was  the  smile  again  ! 

He  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  neck  and 
leaned  far  back  in  his  chair,  fascinated  by  the 
new  expression  of  his  father's  portrait.  "Ah  !" 
he  sighed,  "  I  understand !  I  know  it  now ! 
Thank  God  !  It  is  because  there  has  been  atone 
ment,  restitution  !" 

The  moon  and  stars  sank  to  their  setting,  and 
the  room  grew  chill  and  dark.  As  he  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  portraits,  they  seemed  to  slip  from 
their  frames  and  descend  to  the  floor.  He  felt 
the  touch  of  his  father's  hand  upon  his  head, 


152  THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 

his  mother's  sweet  lips  on  his  cheek.  "Until 
the  day  dawn  and  the  shadows  flee  away,"  she 
murmured.  Whispers  of  love,  gratitude,  hope, 
filled  his  ears.  Then  through  the  open  windows 
a  slight  figure  floated  in  and  laid  her  head  on 
his  breast.  Shirley !  Shirley !  What  does  she 
whisper  ?  " '  Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  love — " 
and  as  he  tries  to  clasp  her  to  his  heart  he  wakes, 
and  it  is  good  old  Caleb  at  the  window,  looking 
in  with  pity  and  much  reproach. 

But  he  has  had  his  dream  !  The  day  had 
dawned  —  the  shadows  fled  away.  Now  for 
his  faithful  overseer  Wingfield,  and  the  begin 
ning  of  the  flight  from  Beechwood. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

i . 

TRAVELLERS  in  the  forties  to  the  wonderful 
Virginia  springs  had  none  of  the  blessings  that 
now  ameliorate  the  discomfort  of  the  long  jour 
ney  in  the  extreme  heat  of  midsummer.  George 
Pullman,  the  traveller's  greatest  benefactor,  had 
not  yet  been  born.  The  passenger  must  sit 
bolt  upright  night  and  day,  and  take  all  the 
dust  and  smoke  that  were  his  portion. 

When  he  first  discerned  the  dim  outline  of 
the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  bounding  the  vast, 
sun-baked  plains,  he  felt  that  his  trials  were  at 
an  end.  Tell  me  not  of  the  salt  breeze  that 
sweeps  the  desolate  sea  !  The  breeze  from  the 
mountain  top  seems  to  come  direct  from  heaven 
itself  —  pure,  cool,  and  fragrant. 

And  then  when  the  noble  range  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  Mountains  is  passed,  and  the  fertile  rolling 
country  beyond,  the  railroad  winds  in  and  out 
among  the  foot-hills  of  the  Alleghanies,  and 
finally,  ascending  always,  through  the  moun 
tains  themselves.  Every  turn  in  the  road  — 
which  then  passed  over  the  path  of  Spotswood's 

153 


154  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Knights  of  the  Golden  Horseshoe  —  reveals  an 
enchanting  glimpse  of  mountains  braided  in 
and  out  together,  rapid,  sparkling  streams,  little 
green  valleys ;  and  humble  homes  of  poverty, 
where  the  mysterious  drama  of  life,  generation 
after  generation,  is  enacted  in  all  its  stages  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave ;  where  maidens  grow 
up  like  the  mountain  flowers  and  the  sons  of  God 
perceive  that  they  are  fair,  and  childhood  laughs 
and  plays,  and  old  age  dreams.  Mrs.  Berkeley 
thought  of  it  all,  as  she  looked  out  of  the  small 
car  window,  and  wished  for  her  husband,  who 
could  spare  only  the  month  of  August  for  a 
holiday ;  Shirley  —  well,  we  can  only  guess  at 
Shirley's  thoughts ;  Dorothea  was  tired  and 
missed  the  Colonel,  often  recurring  in  her 
thoughts  to  his  tall  figure  as  he  stood  on  the 
platform  and  waved  them  good-bye ;  Milly 
thought  anxiously  about  the  understudy  she  had 
left  in  her  household  department,  busied  herself 
gathering  the  shawls  and  pillows  which  she  had 
provided  for  the  comfort  of  her  party,  and  watch 
fully  cared  for  Dorothea. 

"Take  in  yo'  haid,  Miss  Dolly.  Does  you 
want  to  go  to  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  with 
out  no  haid  ?  What  you  lookin'  at,  anyhow  ?" 

"The  long  line  of  cars  when  they  go  around 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  155 

the  hill.  They  look  just  like  a  big  caterpillar 
with  a  horn  on  his  head  —  poking  his  nose 
through  a  field  of  daisies." 

"  Lawd  !  Lawd  !  Dat  chile  !  Nemmine  ! 
You'll  git  a  cinder  in  yo'  eye  bimeby,  and  then 
we'll  hear  talkin'." 

At  last  the  labouring  engine  reached  an  open 
plain  high  above  the  sea-level,  and  slowed  up, 
puffing  and  hissing. 

"  White  Sul-phurr ! "  cried  the  porter,  and 
immediately  our  passengers  found  themselves 
among  friends. 

"Howdy,  Mrs.  Berkeley;  gimme  your  checks. 
Doctor  comin'  bimeby  ?  Hi !  Sis  Milly  Thom 
son  !  Is  you  back  here  ergin  ?  This  way ! 
Plenty  of  room  in  the  stage.  We  fotch  Big  Tom 
along  to-day,"  and  into  "Big  Tom,"  an  enormous 
omnibus,  they  were  quickly  bundled  with  many 
passengers,  —  most  of  whom  had  long  been 
habitues  of  the  South's  most  famous  watering- 
place. 

Each  passenger  seemed  delighted  as  the  fa 
miliar  buildings  associated  with  so  many  happy 
summers  were  recognized.  —  "There's  the  old 
church  —  there's  Virginia  Row."  "There's  our 
cottage,"  said  Milly.  "Lawd  !  Don't  she  look 
natural?  But  mighty  little!" 


156  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

At  the  door  of  the  hotel  there  were  more  wel 
coming  greetings.  Mrs.  Berkeley  shook  hands 
with  the  maids  and  porters.  The  delicate  little 
lady  at  the  news  stand,  the  clerk  at  the  desk, 
all  were  old  friends.  A  negro  lad,  Isaiah,  a  new 
acquisition,  was  detailed  to  collect  her  bags  and 
"show  her  to  her  cottage"  a  few  yards  away. 
The  boy  regarded  her  narrowly  and  considered, 
from  her  appearance,  that  she  was  good  for  at 
least  a  quarter  of  a  dollar.  Much  exercised  upon 
this  point,  he  answered  with  great  politeness  her 
rapid  questioning:  "Who  are  in  the  Colonnade 
this  year  ?  Who  has  the  first  cottage  on  Vir 
ginia  Row,  etc." 

"Lawd,  Mistis,  I  believe  you  knows  more 
about  dis  place  dan  I  does." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  !  I  have  been  coming 
here  ever  since  I  was  born." 

Isaiah  saw  his  opportunity :  "  Is  you  ?  Dat 
mus'  'a*  been  as  much  as  foteen  years  ago  !" 

Of  course  no  self-respecting  silver  quarter 
could  lie  mute  in  a  lady's  pocket  after  this  ! 
Isaiah  felt  that  his  fortune  was  made.  This 
was  simply  a  retaining  fee.  Contingent  fees, 
fees  for  actual  service,  fees  merely  compliment 
ary,  stretched  out  before  him  like  the  widening 
tail  of  a  comet.  But  Milly,  arriving  at  the 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  157 

moment,  waved  him  away  peremptorily.  "Run 
along  now  about  yo'  business.  Don't  hang 
round  this  cottage  pestering  Miss  Mary  an'  the 
chillens."  At  that  moment  another  coloured 
lad  appeared  with  a  large  bunch  of  mountain 
azalea  and  "the  Captain's  compliments,"  —  an 
other  "quarter"  exhibited  uncontrollable  rest 
lessness  ;  the  porters  who  had  waited  her  coming 
then  arrived  with  the  trunks  —  several  more 
quarters,  —  one  for  each  ;  until  Milly  dropped 
the  curtains  before  the  doors,  —  an  understood 
hint  that  the  inmates  had  retired  for  rest  and 
repose. 

A  big  hotel  and  nearly  a  hundred  cottages 
have  clustered  around  the  spring  of  sulphur 
water,  which  was  discovered  more  than  two 
hundred  years  ago  by  white  men  hunting  with 
the  then  friendly  Shawnee  Indians.  A  beautiful 
undulating,  green  valley  surrounds  the  spring, 
shaded  by  noble  oaks  of  great  age ;  with  here 
and  there  a  few  magnificent  pines,  each  one  high 
enough,  hoary  enough  to  claim  kinship  with 
the  storied  "Lonesome  Pine"  of  the  Kentucky 
author.  Around  the  little  cuplike  valley  the 
hill  rises  gently,  and  the  cottages  have  seated 
themselves  against  it,  their  doors  in  the  rear 
opening  on  a  level  with  the  ground,  and  the  little 


158  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

pillared  porticos  in  front  ascended  by  steps, 
many  or  few  as  the  hill  rises  or  falls.  When 
a  cottage  encountered  one  of  the  big  trees,  the 
latter  was  not  sacrificed,  but  the  house  gathered 
itself  together  at  its  knees,  took  it  into  its  em 
brace,  treating  it  with  too  much  respect  to  per 
mit  it  to  be  boarded  around  its  rough  brown 
coat. 

The  big  hotel,  with  arcades  reminding  one  of 
the  cloistered  convents  of  California,  stands  in 
the  centre  of  the  circle  of  cottages,  its  chief 
attraction  a  noble  ballroom,  with  a  perfect 
floor  polished  by  the  happy  feet  of  many  genera 
tions  of  dancers. 

On  one  side  of  the  valley  rises  the  Greenbrier 
Mountain,  and  on  the  other  Kate's  Mountain, 
where,  according  to  tradition,  one  Kate  Cald- 
well  hid  all  one  dreadful  night  from  the  savages. 
A  little  farther  west  the  sun  sets  behind  "The 
Sleeping  Giant."  An  ambitious  row  of  two- 
story  cottages  are  still  known  as  the  Caldwell 
cottages.  A  beautiful  member  of  this  South 
Carolina  family,  a  lady  as  charming  as  she 
was  lovely,  once  complained  that  she  found  no 
pleasant  walks  around  her  favourite  summer 
home,  —  nothing  but  the  little  round  of  cottage- 
paths,  or  the  stony,  dusty  road  beyond.  Her 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  159 

admirers  were  many  and  potential.  Exacting 
a  promise  from  her  that  she  would  remain  three 
days  in  her  own  rooms,  the  crest  of  a  hill  was 
cleared  of  undergrowth,  paths  levelled  and  car 
peted  with  pine  needles,  seats  placed  between 
trees,  little  nooks  given  romantic  names,  and 
the  famous  "Lover's  Walk"  presented  for  her 
pleasure. 

The  resort  commenced  its  life  with  many 
primitive  peculiarities  which  still  remain.  At 
the  time  of  which  this  story  tells,  wealthy 
Southerners,  senators,  statesmen,  rich  planters, 
presidents,  and  politicians  filled  the  hotel  and 
cottages,  many  of  them  bringing  their  own 
horses  and  servants.  There  were  no  bells  in 
the  cottages,  and  when  the  services  of  a  porter 
or  messenger  were  wanted,  "Oh-h-h,  George!" 
or  "Oh-h-h,  Ben  !"  as  the  case  might  be  would 
be  echoed  around  the  valley,  and  George  and 
Ben  would  materialize,  sauntering  in  a  leisurely 
way  across  the  lawn. 

"The  White  Sulphur,"  said  Charles  Dudley 
Warner,  "is  the  only  watering-place  remaining 
in  the  United  States  where  there  is  what  may 
be  called  an  *  assembly'  such  as  might  formerly 
be  seen  at  Saratoga,  or  at  Ballston  Spa  in  Irving's 
young  days.  For  the  better  part  of  a  century 


160  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

it  has  been,  as  everybody  knows,  the  typical 
Southern  resort,  the  rendezvous  of  all  that  was 
most  characteristic  of  the  South,  the  meeting- 
place  of  its  politicians,  the  haunt  of  its  belles, 
the  arena  of  gayety,  intrigue,  and  fashion.  In 
the  days  of  its  greatest  fame  it  was  at  once  the 
finest  and  most  aristocratic  assembly  in  the 
world,  for  although  life  there  was  somewhat  in 
the  nature  of  a  picnic,  it  had  its  very  well-defined 
and  ceremonious  code  of  etiquette."  Every 
body  was  willing  —  nay,  anxious  —  to  know 
everybody  else,  provided  some  one  well-known 
person  stood  sponsor  for  the  stranger  —  as  in 
dicated  by  evidence  of  even  a  slight  acquaint 
ance. 

The  young  girl  was  the  crowning  charm  and 
attraction  of  the  place,  and  should  she  be  well 
born,  beautiful,  and  well-dressed,  —  for  as  one 
said,  "an  ill-dressed  woman  would  spoil  the 
finest  landscape,"  -  she  would  be,  were  she 
rich  or  poor,  enthroned  as  "a  reigning  belle" 
and  rated  little  short  of  a  goddess.  If  she  were 
"a  sweet  girl  but  not  pretty,"  she  could  find 
friends,  drink  the  waters,  and  perhaps  improve ; 
but  if  the  Fates  had  been  really  hard,  and  given 
her  no  personal  charm  whatever,  why --well, 
she  needn't  perhaps  drown  herself  in  the  Green- 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  161 

brier  River,  but  "  the  White  Sulphur  is  no 
place  for  her"  was  decided  by  the  company 
of  knitting  and  embroidering  mamas  on  the 
shaded  gallery,  —  "a  jury  for  conviction  every 


time." 


The  season  had  not  really  opened  when  Mrs. 
Berkeley  arrived ;  that  could  not  be  until 
General  Robertson,  coming  from  Baltimore, 
and  folding  a  blue  silk  sash  across  his  ample 
chest,  offered  his  arm  to  the  prettiest  damsel 
for  the  first  german.  The  band  was  on  hand, 
however,  and  gave  delightful  morning  and  after 
noon  concerts  in  the  little  temples  built  for  their 
shelter  on  the  lawn.  Romantic  and  martial 
music  gains  immensely  from  the  entourage  of 
mountains.  The  band  discoursed  fascinating 
waltzes  in  the  ballroom  every  night,  but  there 
was  more  social  life  and  less  dancing  than  would 
rule  as  soon  as  August  brought  a  larger  crowd. 
Girls  gathered  in  clusters  to  talk  over  their 
important  matters  ;  the  few  young  men  were 
shy  and  reticent,  recognizing  themselves  as  the 
weaker  party ;  the  older  people  enjoyed  the  de 
licious  coolness  and  purity  of  the  atmosphere, 
and  all  delighted  in  the  charming  drives  through 
the  romantic  country,  returning  home  at  night 
laden  with  clematis,  wild  yellow  azalea,  crimson 


i6z  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

lilies,  tiger  lilies,  and  the  splendid  rhododendron, 
which  reaches  in  the  Virginia  mountains  great 
size  and  beauty. 

Seated  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  veranda, 
Mrs.  Berkeley  availed  herself  of  the  presence  of 
an  old  friend  who  had  preceded  her  by  some  days, 
and  learned  the  name  of  the  strangers  as  they 
passed. 

"That,"  said  the  old  beau,  "is  Miss  Kitty 
Burns,  the  belle  of  Louisville ;  here  for  the  first 
time,  however.  That  handsome  old  gentleman 
is  General  Burns,  her  father.  They  grow  fine 
men  and  women  in  the  blue-grass  country.  Oh, 
here  comes  my  girl !  Isn't  she  lovely  ?  That's 
Pearl  Eustis,  of  Charleston.  I  presented  her 
myself  last  season  at  the  St.  Cecilia.  A  perfect 
beauty  —  always  dresses  in  white  and  wears 
lilies,  real  or  artificial.  I  can't  stop  the  pro 
cession  to  introduce  her  now.  She  and  I  will 
call  at  your  cottage.  —  Ah  !  Here  comes  the 
belle  of  New  Orleans.  Miss  Esme  King,  Queen 
of  the  Mardi  Gras  —  stunning,  isn't  she  ?  All 
three  of  these  girls  are  going  to  be  great  friends 
with  Shirley.  That  ?  —  a  late-comer  nobody 
seems  to  know  much  about.  We  call  her  the 
Evening  Star.  She  never  appears  until  night. 
She's  promenading  now  with  a  rich  cotton  man 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  163 

from  New  York.  Her  name  is  —  really,  I  don't 
remember  !" 

The  old  beau  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  hand 
some  stranger  as  she  passed.  "A  fine  figure 
of  a  woman,"  he  commented,  "always  wears  a 
star  in  her  hair,  paste  probably,  —  not  very 
brilliant,  —  and  black  velvet.  Very  handsome, 
but  —  I  don't  know  !  Isn't  she  just  a  leetle  — 
pardon  me  —  just  a  leetle  too  —  what  you  call  — 
decollete?" 

Mrs.  Berkeley  shook  her  head.  "Don't  ask 
me  !  I  am  from  the  rural  districts,  you  know, 
and  may  be  just  a  leetle  —  pardon  me  —  just 
a  leetle  old-fashioned."  j 

"You  never  can  be  anything  but  lovely, 
Mary,"  said  her  old  friend,  affectionately. 
"When  Charley  comes,  I  mean  to  introduce  him 
to  some  rheumatic  old  maids  who'll  monopolize 
him,  and  you  and  I  will  be  boy  and  girl  again 
and  have  a  real  good  old  time." 

"Agreed,"  laughed  Mrs.  Berkeley,  "but  I 
suspect  I  shall  have  to  lend  you  to  Shirley, 
faute  de  mieux!  Her  knight  doesn't  seem  to 
materialize.  Evidently  she  dreams  of  him." 

"No,"  said  Shirley,  slowly,  "my  knight  is 
not  here  ! "  and  rising,  she  excused  herself  and 
walked  slowly  across  the  lawn  to  her  cottage. 


164  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Your  girl  is  a  beauty,  Mary  —  patrician  to 
her  finger-tips.  Give  her  a  good  rest  before  the 
crowd  comes.  Does  she  need  the  waters  ? 
Pretty  bilious  region,  that  low  country  of  yours." 

"She  needs  something,"  sighed  Mrs.  Berkeley. 
"Dear,  dear!  Charley  must  come  along  and 
give  her  a  tonic." 

"What  did  you  do  with  Jim  ?  I  suppose 
Dorothea  is  too  old  for  a  nurse,  eh  ?  —  and  he's 
looking  for  another  situation." 

"James  will  never  take  another  situation.  He 
belongs  to  Berkeley  Castle.  I  left  Aunt  Prissy 
who  can  never  be  persuaded  that  peaches  can 
be  brandied  or  green  sweetmeats  preserved  by 
anybody  else ;  and  James,  like  a  saint,  stayed 
behind  to  take  care  of  her,  look  after  the  house, 
keep  Andy  straight,  comfort  old  Mrs.  Ponsonby, 
gossip  with  Betty  Oliver,  and  incidentally  over 
look  his  own  plantation  affairs.  Really  I  think 
he  preferred  it ;  —  he  said  he  did  at  any  rate. 
He  never  enjoyed  this  place.  He  treasures  a 
funny  printed  letter  Dorothea  wrote  him  year 
before  last  from  the  White  Sulphur  —  'Dear 
Cousin  James,  This  is  the  disgustingest  place  in 
all  this  world.'  She  has  changed  her  opinion, 
but  he  adheres  to  his." 

"Well,  we'll  have  Charley  on  the  first,  —  just  a 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  165 

week  off  now, — and  I'll  report  for  duty  to  Shirley. 
By  that  time  I  expect  she  will  be  ready  to  beat 
me  off  with  sticks.  I  hear  her  !  'No  old  beaux 
of  Mama's  —  no  far-away  cousins  !'  However, 
she'd  do  well  to  be  civil.  She  may  need  me  on 
the  staff  of  her  detective  police,  or,  to  put  it 
mildly,  her  Information  Bureau." 

"You  might  practise  on  me.  The  handsome 
unknown  interests  me.  Who  is  with  her  here  ? " 

"She  is  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stubbs  in  Balti 
more  Row.  They  have  quite  a  romantic  his 
tory.  They  both  began  life  in  a  spinning  fac 
tory  in  North  Carolina  and  worked  at  the  same 
loom.  This  is  a  great  country !  That  was 
twelve  years  ago.  He  rose  rapidly  from  spools 
to  the  raw  material.  He  speculated  in  cotton, 
invested  wisely,  and  is  a  very  rich  man.  You 
see  what  he  looks  like  ?  Well,  his  wife  is  his 
counterpart,  —  short,  thick-set,  spherical,  but 
with  a  good-natured  face.  There  you  are  !  That 
is  all  I  know  about  them.  But  this  place  will  soon 
lose  its  prestige  if  the  sans  culottes  descend  upon 
us.  You  may  say  what  you  please  about  the 
magical  sulphur  waters;  —  it  is  really  the  fine 
exclusive  society  to  be  found  here  that  attracts 


us." 


"And  attracts  others,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Berke- 


166  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

ley ;  "  good  may  result  to  them  —  and  no  harm 
to  the  old  aristocrats." 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  her  friend.  "When 
the  porcelain  jar  and  the  delft  pot  —  or  was  it 
brass  ?  —  went  swimming  together,  you  know 
what  happened.  Better  wait  awhile  and  see 
how  the  handsome  lady  behaves." 

"But  you  see  if  everybody  was  friendly  and 
kind  at  such  places  as  this,  handsome  ladies 
would  be  surer  to  behave ;  they  would  have 
social  obligations,  restraining  influences.  How 
ever,"  she  added,  smiling,  "it's  idle  to  preach 
to  you,  Harry  —  on  these  subjects  at  least. 
I've  laboured  with  you  all  my  life  and  you  don't 
improve  a  bit.  Where  is  our  beauty's  hus 
band?" 

"Ah,  now  you're  too  much  for  me.  There 
may  be  'no  sich  person.'  He  may  be  a  myth. 
She  may  be  a  widow." 

"I  hope  she  is  not  already  a  widow,"  said 
Mrs.  Berkeley. 

"Well,  you  know  as  much  about  her  as  I  do 
—  or  likely  shall.  Her  husband  is  somewhere 
in  the  world,  I  imagine,  otherwise  we  should 
have  our  lady  in  serge  and  crepe  —  instead  of 
velvet  and  brilliants." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DEAR  COUSIN  JAMES, 

I  hope  you  will  receive  this  letter  on  the  first  —  the  day 
Papa  leaves  you.  You  will  drive  him  to  the  depot  in  the 
early  morning  and  then  you  will  walk  over  to  Miss  Betty 
Oliver's,  and  feeling  a  little  low  in  your  mind,  sit  on  her 
porch-bench  and  wait  for  the  Northern  mail.  Miss  Betty 
will  make  a  perfect  cup  of  coffee  for  you,  —  I  wish  I  were 
there  to  share  it,  —  and  you  will  listen  with  angelic  patience 
to  all  her  wailings  and  woes,  and  then  you  will  return  to  the 
post-office  and  get  this  letter !  I  wish  I  had  something 
very  interesting  to  tell  you,  but  nothing  thrilling  has 
happened. 

The  dear  old  mountains  are  just  as  blue  —  just  as  beauti 
ful  as  ever.  I  love  the  meadow  drive  because  there  we  get 
the  finest  view  of  the  Sleeping  Giant.  The  physician  of 
this  place  is  an  old,  old  darling,  —  Dr.  Moorman, — with  a 
long  white  beard.  He  might  be  Noah  or  Moses  or  some 
other  ancient  Patriarch.  Mama  sends  me  to  him  every 
morning  to  be  "looked  over"  —  lest  I  should  be  ill  (which 
I'm  not),  and  we  have  become  great  cronies.  "Aren't  there 
some  legends  about  these  mountains  ?"  I  asked  him  yester 
day.  "Of  course,"  he  said;  "a  fine  one,  about  old  Titan 

167 


1 68  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

yonder.  Come  down  to  the  spring  with  me  and  drink 
a  glass  of  water  like  a  good  girl  and  I'll  tell  you."  Under  the 
trees  he  told  me  a  wonderful  story.  His  father  had  learned 
it  from  an  old  Indian.  The  Great  Spirit  was  angry  once 
because  a  brave  warrior  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  Indian 
maid  and  spent  his  time  with  her  in  this  valley.  Two 
arrows  were  sent  to  kill  the  lovers  —  one  reached  the 
heart  of  the  brave,  but  the  other  missed  the  girl  and  buried 
itself  in  the  earth.  She  withdrew  it  to  kill  herself,  and  the 
Sulphur  Spring  gushed  out.  Her  lover  was  buried  towards 
the  setting  sun,  and  trees  have  grown  up  over  him.  He  is 
the  "Sleeping  Giant."  She  was  doomed  to  haunt  this 
place  as  long  as  the  spring  flows.  When  it  ceases,  she  may 
join  her  lover  in  the  Happy  Hunting-grounds  —  and  there 
fore  we  all  come  here,  year  after  year,  to  help  exhaust  the 
sulphurous  spring.  The  funny  little  white  flower,  Indian 
Pipe,  springs  up  in  her  footsteps.  I  often  gather  them  at 
Lover's  Leap. 

Tell  Andy  I  am  going  to  grow  morning-glories  and  nas 
turtiums  all  around  the  cottage,  —  and  I  think  he  might 
send  me  a  few  of  his  dark-coloured  nasturtiums.  Here  they 
have  only  the  light  yellow  variety.  We  walk  down  to 
"Dry  Creek"  —  Dorothea  and  I  —  and  get  them  from 
the  only  garden  near  the  place.  You  remember  "Dry 
Creek"  ?  —  The  big  river  that  changed  its  mind  and  flowed 
in  some  other  direction  has  never  returned.  The  poor 
forsaken  stones  seem  to  lie  there  expecting  it. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  169 

But  you  are  not  to  suppose  because  I  know  what  is  ex 
pected  of  a  young  lady,  and  write  genteelly  about  legends, 
morning-glories,  nasturtiums,  and  inconstant  rivers  that 
nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  happens  here.  We  have  had 
great  fun  over  our  Dove  German,  instigated  and  carried 
out  by  our  French  Countess  (oh,  yes  !  We  have  a  French 
Countess,  —  only  she  was  born  in  Kentucky;  and  we  have 
a  Bonaparte  too  —  old  Mrs.  Bonaparte)  because  we  girls 
numbered  some  thirty  or  more,  and  there  were  just  twelve 
men,  counting  the  night  clerk.  There  were  plenty  of 
things  they  might  have  done  for  entertainment,  but  they 
lay  about  on  the  grass  all  day  and  promenaded  the  galleries 
at  night  —  never  asking  the  girls  to  dance,  giving  no  little 
card  parties  or  suppers.  So  Madame  la  Comtesse  gave  a 
beautiful  morning  german  and  left  them  all  out !  We 
had  the  band,  champagne  and  biscuits,  and  lovely  favours. 
Half  the  girls  personated  men  in  dark  gowns  and  little 
derby  hats.  The  girls  wore  their  prettiest  muslins.  The 
men  hung  round  the  windows  outside.  They  were  not 
admitted  even  as  spectators. 

The  stages  came  in  while  the  german  was  in  progress, 
and  two  tall  girls  —  strangers  —  entered,  and  Madame 
courteously  invited  them  to  join  the  dancers.  They 
wore  large  hats,  veils,  and  light  dresses,  and  danced  remark 
ably  well.  In  the  middle  of  a  figure  I  dropped  my  hand 
kerchief  and  instantly  one  of  the  newcomers  jumped  up 
and  skated  across  the  floor  to  pick  it  up  !  —  Tom  Burns 


170  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

and  Larry  Thomson  had  been  taken  to  Mrs.  Brown's 
cottage,  laced  within  an  inch  of  their  lives,  and  dressed  in 
her  muslin  gowns  with  white  stockings  and  slippers  ! 

Mr.  Blake  has  been  here  as  long  as  we  have ;  —  of 
course  pretending  he  knew  precisely  the  date  of  our  com 
ing.  He  has  brought  his  Napoleonic  servant,  a  groom, 
trap,  and  horses.  You  remember  everybody  mounts  for 
the  afternoon  ride  or  drive  in  front  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  I  was  standing  there  waiting  to  drive  Mama  and 
Dorothea  when  Mr.  Blake  appeared,  his  groom  leading 
two  elegant  horses  —  dark  wine-coloured  beauties,  larger 
but  not  as  splendid-looking  as  Primrose  (the  darling!). 
Mr.  Blake  led  them  up  near  me.  "Here  are  the  best 
thoroughbreds  Kentucky  blue-grass  can  raise  !"  he  said. 
"They  have  never  been  named.  They  have  waited  for 
you  to  name  them." 

I  had  an  inspiration.  "Charge,  Chester,  charge!  On, 
Stanley,  on." 

That  evening  a  bottle  of  champagne  was  sent  to  our  table 
with  "the  compliments  of  Chester  and  Stanley"  —  and 
Stanley  has  been  placed  at  my  exclusive  disposal  for  the 
whole  season.  "Isn't  that  charming?"  you  will  say  — 
but  somehow  I  don't  care  much  about  it ;  and  cannot  de 
cide  to  accept  it  anyway  until  Papa  comes. 

I  think  Dorothea  must  give  you  more  of  her  confidences 
than  she  gives  me.  I  see  her  every  morning  in  the  writing- 
room,  her  face  close  to  her  paper  and  her  curls  falling  down 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  171 

upon  it,  and  from  her  lofty  duchess-like  manner  I  infer  she 
is  laying  her  commands  upon  you.  I  hope  she  has  ordered 
some  figs  from  the  Berkeley  Castle.  These  mountains 
never  saw  a  fig.  But  dear  me  !  If  you  are  reading  all  this 
at  the  depot,  Aunt  Prissy  will  be  sending  Uncle  Isham  to 
look  for  you.  She  will  think  you've  run  away  with  Miss 
Betty  ! 

Don't  get  lonesome,  dear  Cousin  James  !  We  shall  re 
main  here  only  during  August.  Find  some  nice  new  books 
for  Aunt  Prissy.  Ride  over  to  Ridgely  and  the  Manor  and 
Bellevue.  Spend  a  day  at  the  mill  with  Mrs.  Bangs  and 
"Ma'y  Jane,"  and  tell  me  all  the  funny  things  Mrs.  Bangs 
says,  and  whether  she  has  heard  from  Mr.  Bangs.  Don't 
neglect  Mrs.  Ponsonby  —  Don't  forget  Primrose's  sugar  — 
in  short  be  very  good,  and  soon,  soon  you  will  see  us  all 
again  —  and  very  glad  to  see  you  will  be 

Your  devoted 

SHIRLEY. 

P.S.  To  tell  the  gospel  truth,  honour  bright,  I'd  rather 
spend  my  afternoons  with  you  in  our  old  fairy  glen  than 
on  Mr.  Blake's  beautiful  Stanley  —  for,  you  see,  his  master 
will  always,  always  be  along." 

The  Colonel  read  and  re-read  this  letter,  and 
shook  his  head.  "A  delightful  letter!"  he 
thought.  "Just  like  Shirley  in  her  kind  remem 
brance  of  her  neighbours.  But  why  is  Beech- 


172  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

wood  left  out  in  her  list  of  places  I  must  visit  ? 
Douglas  is  one  of  her  very  earliest  friends,  too  ! 
She  should  not  have  forgotten  him.  I  must 
remind  her."  The  poor  Colonel !  He  thought 
Shirley  was  missing  him  ! 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  August, 
General  Robertson,  arriving  from  Baltimore, 
tied  a  blue  sash  across  his  chest,  and  gloved, 
booted,  and  cravatted  to  perfection,  entered  the 
drawing-room,  where  a  great  crowd  in  full  ball 
dress  was  assembled  and  awaiting  him.  The 
stately  wife  of  an  American  minister,  fresh  from 
a  foreign  court,  placed  her  ivory  hand  upon  his 
arm ;  and  they  led  the  grand  march  from  the 
drawing-room  to  the  ballroom,  through  the 
long  convent-like  corridor,  and  the  crowded 
galleries  beyond.  Conducting  her  to  a  seat  in 
front  of  the  music-stand,  he  stood  beside  her  — 
a  portly  gentleman,  who  had  opened  the  ball  at 
the  White  Sulphur  every  season  for  thirty  years. 
After  the  company  crowded  in,  he  excused  him 
self  to  the  Kentucky  lady,  and  crossing  the 
room,  bowed  low  to  Shirley,  and  together  they 
made  the  round  of  the  room  alone  —  the  old 
beau  dancing  with  the  lightness  of  thistle-down, 
and  the  precision  of  a  master. 

Shirley  flushed  like  a  wild  rose  at  the  unex- 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  173 

pected  honour  which  meant  much  to  a  young 
debutante.  Her  partner  was  quite  capable, 
albeit  stout  and  past  middle  age,  of  exhibiting 
her  dancing  to  the  best  advantage.  His  cour 
tier-like  deference  was  charming,  a  fine  object- 
lesson  to  younger  men.  Old  Harper,  the  ball 
room  custodian,  standing  near  the  door,  nodded 
his  head  delightedly.  "I  tell  you"  he  said  to 
Mr.  Blake,  "there  goes  the  best  blood  in  old 
Virginny,  and  the  top  notch  from  Maryland  ! 
Can't  beat  'em,  suh,  —  can't  beat  'em!" 

"I  should  like  jolly  well  to  beat  him"  laughed 
Blake,  who,  having  visited  London,  affected 
British  slang.  But  the  incident,  ordinary  and 
insignificant  as  it  was,  confirmed  him  in  his 
Virginia  resolution.  He  would  devote  his  sum 
mer  to  this  distingue  belle  of  the  White  Sulphur, 
and  what  is  more,  if  she  wore  well,  win  her  in  the 
end.  She  had  been  indifferent — at  times,  almost 
repellent.  All  the  better !  He  could  imagine 
few  things  tamer  than  an  easy  conquest.  And 
really,  after  all,  a  time  must  come  when  a  man 
must  settle  down. 

The  next  day  a  note  was  placed  at  every  table, 
announcing  a  garden  party  on  the  fifteenth  of 
August.  Guests  were  requested  to  make  lists 
of  all  their  friends,  and  handsome  invitation 


174  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

cards  were  ready  for  their  use.  Special  excur 
sion  rates  had  been  promised  by  the  railroad. 
The  recently  inaugurated  President  of  the 
United  States  would  occupy  his  own  cottage  on 
the  hill  beyond  the  spring,  and  in  his  suite  would 
probably  be  officers  who  had  won  spurs  in  the 
late  wars  with  Mexico.  A  committee  of  ladies 
was  headed  by  the  Kentucky  wife  of  the  late 
foreign  Minister,  and  included  Mrs.  Berkeley 
from  Virginia,  and  representative  ladies  from  all 
of  the  Southern  States  ;  also  from  Pennsylvania, 
for  a  very  charming  Philadelphia  woman  was  a 
cottager  this  summer.  To  this  committee  the 
manager  looked  for  suggestions,  that  this  not 
able  occasion  might  be  worthy  of  their  honoured 
guest. 

At  the  very  first  meeting  of  the  committee, 
the  house  lists,  prepared  by  the  members,  were 
revised,  and  Mrs.  Berkeley  observed  that  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Stubbs  and  her  friend  Mrs. 
Talbot  were  left  out  —  the  only  omissions 
among  the  visitors.  She  called  attention  to 
this. 

"O  dear!"  said  one.  "You  surely  can't  ex 
pect  us  to  have  those  people  —  that  common 
little  Dutch  creature  Stubbs  and  that  bold- 
looking  made-up  minx  that  nobody  knows." 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  175 

"I  think  they  are  Virginians,"  said  Mrs. 
Berkeley,  kindly. 

"Oh,  but,"  said  the  other,  "they  aren't  from 
any  of  the  old  distinguished  families  of  Virginia. 
Did  you  ever  meet  them  before  ?  I  thought 
not !  We  don't  want  any  of  the  riff-raff  at 
our  ball.  Let  them  keep  their  places.  They 
ought  to  know  them  well  enough  by  this  time." 

"  How  will  you  make  any  woman  know  exactly 
where  she  belongs  ?  Ideas  might  differ ! "  said 
the  lady  from  Philadelphia.  She  had  her  own 
notions  about  some  of  the  methods  of  the 
"porcelain  variety."  "How  are  you  going  to 
work  to  make  people  keep  their  places  ?" 

"Oh  !  if  they  are  troublesome  —  why  —  'give 
them  a  little  more  grape,  Captain  Bragg." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley,  gravely, 
ignoring  the  laugh  that  followed  the  quotation 
from  a  famous  military  order  of  the  President, 
"but  for  myself,  I  cannot  consent  to  inflict  so 
deep  a  wound.  Of  course,  the  proprietor  is 
careful  in  choosing  his  guests  —  otherwise  none 
of  us  would  be  here.  If  they  are  left  out,  I  shall 
have  —  very  reluctantly  —  to  withdraw  from 
the  committee.  I  cannot  hurt  any  one's  feelings. 
As  to  Mrs.  Stubbs,  a  more  inoffensive  human 
being  I  cannot  imagine.  She  seems  to  be  the 


176  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

soul  of  kindness.  Why  should  she  not  have  a 
pleasant  evening  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us  who 
have  so  many  ?" 

"Mrs.  Berkeley  is  quite  right,"  said  the  lady 
from  Philadelphia.  "Let  us  be  guided  by  her. 
I  move  to  add  the  rejected  names  to  our  list," 
and  thus  the  matter  was  settled,  but  with  reluc 
tant  acquiescence  on  the  part  of  more  than  one 
haughty  dame.  "This  place  is  getting  to  be  too 
democratic  for  me,"  said  one,  complaining  to 
Major  Selden.  "If  I  am  compelled  to  hear  all 
winter  discussions  upon  our  common  rights  of 
'life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,5  that 
is  no  reason  I  must  have  my  own  summer  happi 
ness  spoiled  by  being  yoked  along  with  the 
canaille.  I  am  amazed  at  Mrs.  Berkeley  !  Who 
is  that  Mrs.  Talbot  ?  Of  course  no  woman  is 
permitted  to  criticise  another  who  happens  to 
be  unusually  handsome  —  and  knows  it." 

"If  'ladies  be  but  young  and  fair,  they  have 
the  gift  to  know  it,' "  said  the  Major,  who  did  not 
relish  an  implied  censure  of  his  friend.  "That's 
just  as  true  to-day  as  in  the  time  of  Jaques  the 
melancholy." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes  —  of  course  !  But  you  see  this 
factory  girl,  this  Stubbs  woman,  is  neither  young 
nor  fair.  As  to  her  gifts  —  nobody  has  yet  per- 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  177 

ceived  them.  As  manager  of  a  ceremonious 
military  ball,  she  is  quite  out  of  the  question. 
Really,  there's  reason  in  all  things." 

But  the  arrival  of  Hazazar,  the  costumer  from 
Baltimore,  put  an  end  to  all  minor  discussions. 
Hazazar  came  prepared  to  transform  everybody 
into  fisher-maidens,  milk-maidens,  flower  maid 
ens,  night,  morning-stars,  follys,  Dianas, 
Minervas,  Queens,  Courtiers,  Kings,  peasants, 
what  not  ?  Of  course  the  President  and  his 
party  were  excused  from  costuming ;  also  the 
ladies  of  the  committee,  —  these  constituting 
the  reception  committee,  —  before  whom  all  the 
others  were  to  pass  in  review. 

"I  suppose  you  two  will  rebel  and  expect  at 
the  last  moment  to  be  forgiven,"  said  Mrs. 
Berkeley  to  her  husband  and  Major  Selden. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  Major;  "I  shall 
go  as  the  Ancient  Mariner  —  'long  and  lank 
and  brown  !'  I  have  my  own  story  to  tell  of  a 
long  voyage  and  — " 

"Then  I  shall  go  as  the  Wedding-guest," 
laughed  the  Doctor;  "for  nobody  else  will 
listen  to  Harry's  story.  My  sympathies  have 
always  been  with  the  wedding-guest ;  belated, 
maybe,  and  forging  along  in  a  hurry,  to  be  best 
man  perhaps  at  his  friend's  wedding,  and  held 


178  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

up  by  an  old  seaman  !  Ah  !  many's  the  time 
that  Harry  has  left  me  a  wiser  man  —  and  a 
sadder,  because  I  hadn't  more  time  for  his 
capital  stories.  Now  I  shall  make  up  for  lost 
opportunities.  I  shall  cling  to  him  like  a 
Siamese  twin,  or  a  burr,  as  I  am  agricultural  — 
or  yet  more  appropriately,  a  plaster." 

Shirley  listened  with  intense  interest.  She 
had  early  secured  —  mainly  influenced  by  the 
fact  that  she  could  weave  a  pearl  coif  from  her 
wax  beads  —  the  only  Juliet  costume  in  the 
collection.  It  was  exacted  "that  no  one  should 
reveal  the  choice  of  a  costume."  In  all  cases, 
when  a  costume  was  requested  that  had  been 
already  selected,  it  was  simply  "not  in  the  col 
lection,"  the  time  was  short,  the  stock  limited, 
and  another  choice  must  be  quickly  made.  But 
Hazazar  had  an  assistant.  Money  is  mighty  in 
any  emergency.  A  liberal  "tip,"  secretly  con 
veyed,  elicited  enlightening  information  to  Mr. 
Blake,  who  immediately  secured  the  only  Romeo 
costume  —  a  fact  which  the  amiable  assistant 
instantly  conveyed  to  Juliet. 

Secure  in  his  position,  he  could  afford  to 
amuse  himself  with  Shirley.  "I  think,"  he 
said,  "you  would  make  a  charming  Miranda." 
Shirley  gravely  agreed  with  him. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  179 

"Then  I  shall  be  Ferdinand!  That  is  de 
cided!" 

"You  are  ambitious,"  said  Shirley,  looking  at 
him  critically.  "As  I  recall  Ferdinand  he  was 
quite  beyond  the  ordinary  individual  —  '  a  thing 
divine/  noble  in  adversity,  strong,  dark." 

"Oh,  I  suppose,"  interrupted  Blake,  irritably, 
"you  would  be  quite  willing  to  see  me  personate 
Caliban." 

"  I  don't  remember  much  about  Caliban.  — 
He  was  pretty  awful,  I  suppose,  but  I  have  no 
personal  grievance  against  him.  He  could  sing 
a  reasonably  good  song.  He  has  my  sympathy 
in  regard  to  scraping  trenchers  and  washing 
dishes." 

Blake  always  recovered  from  the  irritation  of 
these  little  passages  at  arms  with  renewed 
spirit.  "Too  light  winning  makes  the  prize 
light,"  was  one  of  his  favourite  quotations.  On 
the  present  occasion,  Shirley  had  a  great  desire 
to  find  some  character  which  would  excuse  her 
close  companionship  with  her  father  and  Colonel 
Selden.  She  had  learned  to  avoid,  as  far  as 
possible,  private  interviews  with  Mr.  Blake. 
On  horseback  she  could  always  gallop  ahead  — 
in  his  trap  she  would  never  accompany  him. 
For  the  "Lover's  Walk"  she  managed  to  be 


180  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

always  engaged  to  some  young  lad,  or  Tom 
Burns  the  irrepressible,  or  some  newcomer. 
She  was  thus  unconsciously  enhancing  her  own 
charm  in  his  eyes.  The  more  she  eluded  him, 
the  more  ardent  was  his  pursuit. 

Here  now  was  an  occasion  demanding  deep 
thought  and  subtle  behaviour.  She  settled  the 
possibility  of  appearing  as  Juliet  by  presenting 
her  costume  to  a  dear  girl,  whom  she  knew  to  be 
too  poor  for  anything  so  gorgeous,  and  re-read 
her  little  pocket  edition  of  Coleridge,  a  present 
from  Douglas.  "I  might  be  the  ' frightful 
fiend*  that  'closely  treads  behind,'"  she  thought ; 
"no,  no,  that's  impossible.  The  sailor  that 
shot  the  albatross  ?  —  equally  out  of  the  ques 
tion  ;  he  was  the  Mariner.  Ah-h  !  I  have  it ! 

' '  He  holds  him  with  his  glittering  eye 
And  listens  like  a  three  years'  child.' 

I  shall  be  the  three  years'  child." 

"I  don'  know  what  I'm  cuttin'  up  your  bes' 
summer  frock  for,  Miss  Shirley!"  complained 
Milly,  as  she  ripped  the  lace  from  a  handsome 
mull  gown.  "Ef  you'se  aimin'  to  make  me  put 
it  on  Dolly,  I  tell  you  now  flat-footed  I  ain' 
gwine  to  do  it.  I  ain'  gwine  sacerfice  that  chile 
to  none  o'  these  distracted  doin's  at  this  place." 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  181 

"You're  going  to  do  exactly  as  I  want  you 
to,  Mammy  !  You  are  going  to  make  a  short 
baby-waist,  to  a  plain,  short  skirt  with  a  hem, 
and  three  tucks  above  the  hem.  And  what  is 
more,  nobody,  honour-bright-cross-your-heart, 
except  Mama,  is  to  see  it." 

"I  got  no  call  to  cross  my  heart  for  you  or 
anybody  else,  Miss  Shirley.  Fse  a  Baptist, 
an'  you  knows  it.  Go  'long,  chile,  you  knows 
what  I  gwine  do  !  I  gwine  do  jest  what  you 
tells  me.  You  ain'  got  no  call  to  be  cuttin'  up 
good  does  !  Miss  M'Comas  had  a  lot  o'  trouble 
sewin'  on  all  this  lace." 


CHAPTER  XV 

ALAS  !  Poor  mortals  know  but  too  well  the 
fate  of  many  of  their  best-laid  schemes.  The 
morning  of  the  great  day  opened  with  rain  of 
that  steady  persistent  kind  that  precludes  all 
hope  of  sunshine.  Garden-party,  indeed,  with 
flower-garlanded  walks,  lighted  by  coloured 
lanterns  !  The  proprietor  met  all  questions  with 
smiling  serenity.  He  had  but  one  request  — 
to  be  allowed  to  advance  the  mid-day  meal  to 
one  o'clock  and  permission  to  close  the  doors  of 
the  public  rooms  until  nine.  A  collation  would 
be  sent  to  each  cottage  and  room  in  the  after 
noon. 

When  the  company  assembled  in  the  evening, 
the  biggest  kind  of  a  surprise  awaited  them. 
Coloured  lanterns  were  thickly  hung  around  the 
long  veranda.  Within,  they  were  introduced 
into  a  garden.  Birnam  Wood  had  come  to 
Dunsinane.  Slender  trees  were  bound  to  every 
one  of  the  long,  long  rows  of  pillars,  extending 
through  sliding  panels  the  whole  length  of  the 
building,  the  floor  was  carpeted  with  green,  and 

182 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  183 

growing  flowers  were  tastefully  arranged  in  the 
centre  of  green  mounds.  Festoons  of  flowers 
shaded  the  swinging  lanterns.  The  President  — 
the  old  hero  of  Buena  Vista  —  in  his  throne 
chair  looked  down  upon  a  scene  gorgeous  with 
colour ;  laughing,  scintillating  under  the  glamour 
of  the  many  shaded  lights.  "How  on  earth  did 
you  manage  to  have  these  trees  brought  to-day  ? " 
he  asked  the  proud  proprietor.  He  could  drive 
a  Mexican  column  up  the  slope  of  a  mountain, 
but  he  had  never  ordered  a  forest  to  march  into 
a  ballroom. 

"Those  trees  have  been  lying  in  my  cellar 
for  several  days,"  he  was  answered.  "I  could 
take  no  risks,  you  see." 

The  costumed  company  represented  many 
characters,  historic  or  fanciful.  When  Mr.  Blake 
requested  that  he  might  follow  Miss  Berkeley 
or  accompany  her,  the  amiable  announcer  in 
dulged  him.  To  his  unspeakable  chagrin  the 
party  was  announced  in  rapid  succession  as 
"The  Ancient  Mariner,  The  Wedding-guest, 
Romeo,  with  a  three  years'  child  that  listens." 
Shirley  had  covered  herself  with  an  ample  cloak 
which  she  dropped,  too  late  for  his  escape,  into 
Milly's  hands.  The  President  shouted  with 
laughter.  He  was  known  to  dislike  society 


1 84  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

conventions  and  ceremonies  and  had  looked  for 
ward  with  dismay  to  this  ball,  and  the  part 
expected  of  himself.  The  trio  before  him  was 
irresistibly  comical. 

Dismally  lank,  lean,  and  brown  looked  the 
Ancient  Mariner,  dressy  and  debonair  the  wed 
ding-guest  ;  while  Shirley  was  simply  entrancing 
in  her  baby  shoes,  blue  sash,  sleeves  looped  with 
blue  ribbons,  and  amber  beads.  Her  fine  eyes 
danced  with  merriment,  and  her  brown  hair 
peeped  out  in  little  rings  from  her  baby-cap. 

"I  wonder,"  whispered  the  Ancient  Mariner 
to  Shirley,  "if  he  would  be  insulted  if  we  ex 
plained  ourselves  to  him.  His  knowledge  of 
literature,  Scott  says,  doesn't  go  much  beyond 
good  old  Dilworth's  spelling-book." 

"He  knows  enough  to  understand  children. 
Sh-h.  He's  beckoning  to  us  now,"  said  Shirley. 

"Why  amber,  little  girl  ?"  asked  the  President, 
by  way  of  earning  a  word  from  the  pretty  vision. 
"Is  not  coral  the  wear  for  a  baby  ?" 

"Yeth,  thir,"  lisped  the  three-year-older,  "bu\. 
amber  ith  good  for  my  croup  !" 

"Perhaps  the  baby  would  give  an  old  soldier 
a  kiss  —  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather  ?  " 

Shirley  answered  this  with  a  charming  curt 
sey,  and  stooping,  touched  with  her  lips  the 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  185 

President's  hand.  He  was  delighted.  Raising 
her  as  if  he  were  a  king,  he  respectfully  kissed  her 
own  little  hand.  The  pretty  episode  was  ap 
plauded,  and  the  blushing  girl  would  have  gladly 
vanished  in  the  crowd.  The  old  warrior,  how 
ever,  seated  her  beside  him  to  help  him  out,  as 
he  said.  "That  fellow  at  the  door  calls  out  the 
companies  as  they  come  on  the  field,"  he  said, 
"but  I  do  not  follow  him  very  well.  I  shall 
have  to  retire  early  and  you  will  have  plenty  of 
dancing  time." 

She  dropped  her  infantile  lisp  and  manner, 
and  met  the  old  General  on  the  plains  of  Mexico. 
She  could  repeat  the  stirring  lines,  beginning  — 

"  Beneath  the  stern  old  mountains  we  met  them  in  their 

pride, 
And  rolled  from  Buena  Vista  back  the  battle's  bloody 

tide." 

She  was  so  ardently  patriotic  and  the  veteran 
so  fatherly  that  she  lost  her  shyness  in  her  efforts 
to  entertain  him.  "Ah,  Mr.  Attorney-General," 
he  said  to  Reverdy  Johnson,  "we  find  an  ally 
here  in  the  Virginia  mountains  —  a  good  Whig. 
We  must  have  her  at  the  White  House  next 
winter.  Mrs.  Taylor  will  send  for  her." 

"We  need  her  in  the  Cabinet,"  said  the  At- 


186  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

torney-General,  gravely.  "There's  a  vacancy 
in  Mrs.  Johnson's  establishment.  The  Vice- 
President's  office  is  already  ably  rilled  by  Mr. 
Fillmore." 

Mr.  Blake  found  his  evening  completely 
spoiled.  He  would  have  liked  to  avenge  him 
self  by  devoted  attentions  to  Miss  Esme  King, 
or  Miss  Eustis,  or  Tom  Burns's  witty  sister.  — 
But  he  had  asked  no  dances  of  those  young 
ladies,  and  their  cards  were  already  full.  Well, 
he  could  show  Miss  Berkeley  that  he  too  could 
be  indifferent.  He  knew  the  President  would 
release  her  at  an  early  hour.  If  she  thought  he 
was  waiting  for  her,  she  would  find  herself  mis 
taken.  He  would  not  dance  at  all.  He  was 
too  much  offended  to  hover  around  her.  The 
evening  train  from  the  South  arrived  near  mid 
night,  and  he  strolled  forward  to  see  the  new 
comers.  The  first  man  that  sprang  out  of  the 
omnibus  and  entered  the  office  was  Douglas 
Newton.  Without  being  recognized,  Blake  re 
turned  to  the  ballroom.  He  felt  that  this  might 
complicate  matters.  Shirley  would  have  one 
more  devoted  attendant,  and  his  own  oppor 
tunities  for  interviews  with  her  would  be  rarer. 

Many  windows  opened  from  the  great  ball 
room  into  the  galleries  that  surrounded  it  on 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  187 

three  sides.  The  country  people  thronged  these 
whenever  anything  unusual  was  expected,  and 
every  window  was  now  filled  with  eager  specta 
tors  —  young  men  and  young  girls,  old  grey 
beards  and  women  with  babies.  No  proprietor, 
since  the  existence  of  the  hotel,  had  ever  for 
bidden  them.  They  were  the  gallery  to  the 
theatre,  and  watched  the  dances  with  gravity 
and  perfect  behaviour. 

"What's  all  this  going  on?"  Douglas  asked 
an  old  friend  whom  he  found  in  the  office  —  pre 
ferring  a  quiet  smoke  to  the  hot,  crowded  ball 


room. 
« 


Oh,  they've  captured  the  old  hero,  and  are 
working  hard  for  his  amusement,  —  costuming, 
masquerading,  and  what  not.  He  is  perfectly 
delighted  !  You  should  have  seen  him  kissing 
the  hand  of  that  lovely  Miss  Berkeley,  with  all 
the  airs  of  an  old  courtier.  You  are  quite  sure 
you  won't  smoke  ?  This  is  a  mild  cigar  —  won't 
keep  you  awake." 

"  No,  thank  you  —  not  to-night !  You  were 
saying  — " 

"Oh,  about  Miss  Berkeley?  She  entered 
the  ballroom  dressed  like  a  little  child,  looking 
like  one  of  Titian's  angels,  and  he  was  so  wrought 
upon,  bless  you,  he  asked  for  a  kiss  !  —  but,  egad, 


1 88  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

the  young  lady  evaded  it  as  cleverly  as  you  can 
imagine,  bowed  her  pretty  head  a  moment  over 
his  hand,  and  curtsied  in  the  most  charmingly 
deferential  manner.  She  was  willing  to  salute 
the  old  soldier  that  far  !  He  admired  her  ex 
tremely.  All  this  to-do  over  him  delights  him. 
No  more  wars  for  him  !  More  than  ever  he 
thanks  God  we  are  'at  peace  with  all  the  world 
and  the  rest  of  mankind,'  as  he  said,  you  remem 
ber,  at  his  inauguration  last  March.  Bless  his 
innocence  !  He  heard  the  people  laugh,  but  that 
they  were  laughing  at  him  never  entered  his 
head." 

Douglas  felt  himself  too  travel-soiled  to  ap 
pear  in  company,  and  it  was  too  late  to  go  to 
his  distant  room  and  refresh  his  toilet.  He 
found  a  vacant  spot  in  a  window,  and  pulling 
his  hat  over  his  brows,  he  surveyed  the  gay 
scene  within.  The  President  and  his  party  were 
to  leave  next  morning,  and  they  retired  early. 
Shirley's  friends  had  placed  her  in  his  chair  and 
were  gathered  around  her,  full  of  interest  in  her 
conversation  with  the  old  General.  She  had 
removed  her  baby-cap,  and  her  hair  fell  in  soft 
undulations  around  her  shoulders.  It  was  the 
fashion  of  the  hour  to  wear  the  hair  braided  and 
wound  around  the  head  like  a  coronet,  but  Doug- 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  189 

las  could  remember  Shirley  as  a  little  girl,  and 
the  little  girl  was  again  before  him.  Never  had 
she  seemed  to  him  so  adorable  !  A  great  ten 
derness,  a  great  longing  to  protect  her,  swelled 
his  heart.  The  country  woman  leaning  in  the 
window  beside  him  heard  a  sigh,  and  regarded 
him  with  pity  and  perfect  intelligence  —  "out 
thar  in  the  dark,"  she  told  her  husband  as  they 
drove  homeward,  "an*  his  sweetheart  inside 
dancin'  with  the  other  fellers  !  I  cert'nly  was 
sorry  fer  'im.  An'  he  was  a  sight  better  lookin' 
then  any  of  the  rest  of  'em  !" 


CHAPTER   XVI 

WHEN  Douglas  called  at  the  Berkeley  cottage 
next  morning,  he  found  only  Mammy  and 
Dorothea  ready  to  receive  him,  and  they  were 
just  leaving  the  door  for  a  walk  to  the  Happy 
Gardens  in  the  cool  of  the  morning.  A  little 
boy  with  a  wistful  countenance  led  Dorothea 
by  the  hand.  Douglas  turned  and  accompanied 
them,  Dorothea  having  gravely  presented  her 
companion.  —  "This  is  my  friend  Jack.  I  never 
can  find  Mama  in  the  day  to  interduce  him  to  her, 
and  Shirley  says  she  always  interduces  all  her 
friends  to  Mama,  and,"  -  but  Milly,  foreseeing 
a  long  explanation,  broke  in  :  — 

"This  yer's  the  innercentest  chile  at  this  place. 
I  dunno  nothin'  'bout  his  folks ;  they  tells  me 
I  better  look  out,  but  this  little  boy  cert'nly 
is  a  comfort  to  Dolly.  He  jest  devoted  to  her, 
an'  she  ain't  a  bit  o'  trouble  to  nobody  when  she 
got  him  to  play  wid.  More'n  that,  my  Mistis 
is  above  all  that  foolishness  'bout  who  she  'sociate 
wid.  She  ain'  feared  she  hurt  herse'f  by  visitin' 
even  ole  Miss  Bangs." 

"So  this  is  Jack,"  said  Douglas,  kindly,  "and 

190 


THE   COLONEL'S  STORY  191 

he  has  been  taking  care  of  my  little  Dorothea 
while  I  was  away." 

"Because  you  know,"  said  Dorothea,  "Shir 
ley  hasn't  time  to  amuse  me  at  all,  an'  the  other 
children  don't  tell  stories  an'  play  moss-houses. 
Oh,  I  do  like  'em  —  very  much  —  but  you  see  I 
love  Jack  ! " 

"I  see,"  said  Douglas,  gravely;  "that  makes 
all  the  difference  in  the  world.  But  is  he  only 
Jack  ?  Has  he  no  other  name  ?" 

"  Tain't  no  matter  what  his  name  is,"  said 
Milly,  hastily.  "I  knowed  a  boy  once  named 
Pat  Grubble  an'  he  was  jus'  as  nice  as  any  chile 
I  ever  want  to  see.  Pretty  is  as  pretty  does  — 
names  ain'  nothin'.  Look  at  this  yer  low-down 
no  'count  nigger  that  call  hisself  Napoleon  Bona 
parte  Johnsing !  He  knows  what  7  think  of 
him  !  Ef  he  was  a  do'mat  at  my  do',  I  wouldn't 
wipe  my  foot  on  him." 

Douglas  gathered  that  Dorothea's  new  friend 
was  not  of  aristocratic  lineage,  but  he  respected 
the  child's  feelings  too  much  to  catechise  him. 
The  little  boy,  however,  who  had  only  waited  for 
a  pause  in  the  conversation,  now  said  simply, 
"My  name  is  John  Baker  Stubbs,"  and  added, 
anticipating  the  usual  next  question,  "eight- 
goin'-on-nine." 


192  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Douglas  thought  him  wonderfully  small  for 
so  great  an  age.  He  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
saying,  "I  am  very  happy  to  make  your  ac 
quaintance,"  received  an  approving  glance 
from  Dorothea,  and  leaving  the  party,  turned 
aside  into  one  of  the  by-paths  of  the  Lover's 
Walk. 

The  grove  was  deserted.  Usually  couples  who 
could  find  no  other  time  or  place  for  confidential 
talk  might  be  found  here  and  there  on  the  seats 
under  the  trees,  —  little  short  benches  a  deux  at 
discreet  distances  apart,  —  but  after  the  mid 
night  rout,  sentiment  was  refreshing  itself  by 
a  morning's  sleep. 

Douglas  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  benches, 
and  clasping  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his  neck,  — 
his  favourite  attitude,  —  settled  himself  for  an 
hour  of  profound  thought.  Why  should  he  think 
more  about  it  ?  Every  step  had  been  gone  over 
again  and  again.  Rumours  had  reached  him 
from  time  to  time  of  Blake's  devotion  to  Shirley, 
of  the  rides  together,  of  the  rare  flowers  he 
showered  upon  her,  coming  daily  on  ice  from  the 
best  florist  in  Baltimore,  of  his  openly  avowed 
intention  to  distance  all  competitors.  Of  Shir 
ley's  own  attitude  there  seemed  no  doubt. 
What  more  could  any  girl  desire  ?  He  was 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  193 

accomplished,  handsome,  travelled ;  in  good 
social  position  abroad.  When  the  time  came 
for  him  to  "settle  down,"  Shirley  would  find 
herself  handsomely  placed  in  New  York  or  Lon 
don  or  anywhere  she  pleased.  Thus  Dame 
Rumour  threw  the  ball  from  one  to  another, 
until  at  last  it  had  reached  Beechwood. 

"Now,"  he  reflected,  "the  time  has  come  for 
action.  What  must  be  my  first  step  ?  Dr. 
Berkeley  would  believe  me,  of  course.  He  would 
know  me  to  be  incapable  of  a  selfish  motive  — 
out  of  all  question  now.  He  could  forbid  fur 
ther  acquaintance.  Shirley  would  believe,  too, — 
but  suppose  her  affections  have  been  engaged ! 
She  would  break  her  heart !  Better,  a  thousand 
times,  it  should  break  than  she  should  marry 
a  —  No,  no,  she  must  be  saved  from  that, 
be  her  very  life  the  forfeit." 

A  footstep  on  the  dried  pine  leaves,  and  Blake 
stood  before  him  !  He,  too,  had  sought  the 
deserted  spot  for  uninterrupted  meditation. 

"Hello,  Newton  !  When  did  you  come  ?  I 
didn't  know  you  were  expected,"  and  he  took 
the  seat  beside  the  other. 

Ignoring  the  proffered  hand  and  familiar 
greeting  and  action,  Douglas  rose  and  said 
sternly :  — 


i94  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

"  I  was  not  expected.  It  is  as  well  you  should 
know  at  once  that  I  am  here  because  of  your 
devoted  attentions  to  my  cousin." 

"My  word !  This  is  interesting !  Perhaps 
you  will  kindly  enlighten  me.  Why,  may  I  ask, 
can  I  not  pay  my  devoirs  to  Miss  Berkeley  — 
especially  as  she  has  not  forbidden  them." 

"You  remember  you  lost  a  letter  at  Berkeley 
Castle,"  -  Blake  started,  but  immediately  froze 
into  stiff  silence.  Douglas  repeated,  "You  lost 
a  letter  !  It  was  opened  before  my  eyes  and  read 
before  I  knew  to  whom  it  was  written  —  by 
whom  it  was  written.  It  was  addressed  to  you, 
it  was  signed  by — " 

"Stop!"  said  Blake,  rising  in  a  towering  rage, 
and  losing  all  self-control.  "Before  you  go  a 
step  farther  let  me  demand  your  right,  —  as  I 
should  have  done  before  this  :  first,  to  read 
my  private  letters ;  secondly,  to  interfere  in  any 
of  my  matters  whatsoever." 

"  I  have  told  you.  I  have  no  apology  to  make 
for  a  pure  accident.  Having  been  given  knowl 
edge  denied  others,  I  have  the  right  to  use  it 
and  protect  my  cousin." 

"Cousin?"  sneered  Blake.  "Cousin!  Pos 
sibly  her  great-grandfather's  second  wife's  sister- 
in-law  might  have  been  your  great-grandmother. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  195 

She  has  given  you  no  nearer  right  —  of  that 
I  am  sure.  So,  Mr.  Douglas  Newton,  by  your 
august  permission,  I  shall  e'en  pursue  my  own 
sweet  will  at  my  own  convenience." 

"You  shall  not,  by  God,"  said  Newton,  con 
fronting  Blake  with  blazing  eyes.  "I  wished 
to  spare  you  —  I  did  not  desire  to  degrade  you, 
but  I  shall  at  once  go  to  Dr.  Berkeley." 

"  Whe-w  !  Degrade  I  And  has  he,  —  have 
you,  —  no  memories  ?  Are  a  man's  conquests 
as  he  lives  through  his  golden  years  reckoned 
degradation  or  triumph  ?  Come,  come,  Newton  ; 
don't  affect  to  be  an  innocent  fool.  Haul  down 
your  haughty  colours  !  A  fair  field  is  every 
man's  right." 

'  You  are  a  contemptible  puppy  !  I  mean  it ! 
How  could  you  DARE  permit  me  to  introduce  you 
to  my  friends  ?  How  dare  you  take  advantage 
of  that  introduction  —  knowing,  as  you  do, 
that  I  know  you.  It  is  war  to  the  knife  between 
you  and  me." 

"War  to  the  knife,  is  it  ?  To  the  knife  then 
let  it  be  —  or,  if  you  prefer,  the  pistol !  I  wish 
you  a  very  good  morning,  Mr.  Newton  !  To 
morrow  morning  will  be  a  better,  when  I  shut 
your  impudent  mouth  forever !  My  friend  will 
call  on  you." 


196  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Your  challenge  is  accepted,"  said  Douglas, 
sternly.  "I  name  Major  Harry  Selden  as  my 
second,  and  refer  your  *  friend'  to  him,"  and, 
turning  promptly,  he  pursued  the  outward  path 
through  the  grove.  This  path,  as  he  knew,  led 
at  the  rear  of  the  cottages  to  the  President's 
cottage  on  the  hill.  In  last  night's  hasty 
glance  over  the  registry  of  arrivals,  he  had 
observed  that  Major  Selden  had  a  room  in  this 
cottage.  The  President  and  his  party,  who  had 
left  in  the  early  train,  had  not  needed  the  whole 
of  the  house  and  had  not  permitted  Major 
Selden  to  be  disturbed. 

Hoping  to  find  the  Major  at  home,  Douglas 
walked  rapidly  down  the  shaded  path.  Pres 
ently  he  heard  children's  voices,  and  looking  up, 
espied  Milly,  Dorothea,  and  Jack,  with  their 
hands  full  of  honeysuckle,  returning  from  the 
"Happy  Gardens"  in  which  the  Lover's  Walk 
terminates.  Had  Douglas  seen  the  Happy  Gar 
dens  ?  Then  they  must  turn  right  back  with 
him  —  'twasn't  far.  He  ought  to  see  the  old 
honeysuckles  all  lying  on  the  ground  in  bloom. 
"Everybody  has  forgotten  the  honeysuckles  but 
God,  Mammy  says  !  They  were  planted  for  a 
lady  years  and  years  and  years  ago,  and  every 
summer  they  bloom  to  let  her  know  they  don't 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  197 

forget  —  and  she  does  know,  Mammy  says,  up 
there  where  she  is." 

"Look  'ere,  chillern,"  said  Milly.  "You  ain' 
gwine  back.  Come  along  home  an'  git  ready  for 
dinner.  What  you  talkin'  so  much  to  yo'  cousin 
Douglas  for,  Dolly  ?  Don'  you  see  he  ain' 
heerd  a  word  you  say  ?" 

Douglas  hastened  along  with  one  thought 
preeminent  above  all  others  —  to  get  speech  as 
speedily  as  possible  with  Major  Selden  and  ex 
plain  the  liberty  he  had  taken  in  naming  him 
without  first  obtaining  his  consent.  Above 
everything  the  matter  must  be  kept  from  the 
Berkeleys.  Major  Selden  would  realize  this, 
and  excuse  him. 

The  Major  was  seated  in  the  little  porch  of  his 
cottage,  his  chair  tilted  back  and  his  feet  on  the 
banister  —  having  just  returned  from  the  post- 
office  near  the  Spring ;  and  with  his  papers  on 
a  table  beside  him  under  a  book  to  keep  them 
from  blowing  away,  he  was  unfolding  the  Rich 
mond  Whig  when  Douglas  ran  up  the  flight  of 
steps  leading  to  the  President's  cottage. 

"Bless  me!  By  the  powers,  it's  Newton! 
I  haven't  seen  you  since  you  went  abroad. 
Come  up  !  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  When 
did  you  arrive  ?" 


198  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"I'm  afraid,  Major,  your  greeting  would  be 
less  cordial  if  you  knew  my  errand.  It  is  of  a 
delicate  nature.  May  we  go  within  ?  I  have 
just  had  a  quarrel  with  Mr.  Blake  —  and  he 
has  challenged  me  to  fight  him.  I  ventured  to 
name  you  as  my  second  -  '  and  he  proceeded 
without  replying  to  the  questions,  and  under  seal 
of  strict  confidence  to  relate  the  whole  story, 
from  Andy's  discovery  to  the  present  moment. 

Major  Selden  was  a  man  of  the  old  school. 
He  had  been  second  in  several  duels  and  principal 
in  more  than  one.  He  believed  in  a  man's  right 
—  nay,  obligation  —  to  settle  aspersions  upon 
his  honour  in  this  way,  and  the  right  rose  to  the 
dignity  of  a  sacred  privilege  if  the  sword  left  its 
scabbard  in  defence  of  innocent  and  beautiful 
womanhood.  Like  an  old  war-horse,  he  thrilled 
in  the  prospect  of  battle.  He  said  with  empha 
sis  :  "You  were  right  to  provoke  the  challenge, 
right  to  accept  it.  You  make  me  your  debtor 
by  confiding  your  honour  to  my  care." 

"  I  appreciate  the  fact  that  my  story  could  be 
revealed  to  no  one  less  devoted  to  Dr.  Berkeley 
than  yourself." 

"Right,  right,  my  boy  !  I  think  it  would  kill 
Mary  Berkeley  if  her  girl's  name  should  be  in 
cluded  in  any  such  story  —  bandied  about 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  199 

from  one  newsmonger  to  another.  The  pretty 
child  would  perish  like  a  butterfly  in  z  flame. 
Now,  our  first  thought  must  be  of  them  —  and 
the  sooner  we  get  this  over,  the  better.  The 
other  party  has  lost  the  privilege  of  naming  place, 
hour,  and  weapons.  I  never  travel  without  my 
pistols,  —  I  have  a  fine  pair, —  and  I  see  no  reason 
why  we  should  not  arrange  a  meeting  for  to 
morrow.  The  hour  had  better  be  not  long 
before  the  morning  train  leaves  for  Washington. 
We  are  lawbreakers  already,  and  should  Blake 
fall  we  would  have  to  get  you  out  of  the  state  in 
short  order.  What  sort  of  a  shot  are  you  ?" 

"I  can  cut  saw-teeth  around  a  visiting  card 
at  ten  paces,"  said  Douglas,  "but  I  desire  no 
advantage.  Mr.  Blake  is,  I  hope,  competent, 
or  he  would  not  have  suggested  pistols." 

A  step  on  the  gravel  arrested  their  attention, 
and  through  the  open  door  they  perceived  the 
face  of  Tom  Burns,  pale  with  suppressed  excite 
ment.  "I  come  from  Mr.  Blake,  gentlemen, 
I  —  I  —  he  represented  to  me  that  he  had  no 
friends  in  this  place  and  I  could  not  refuse  him. 
I  bear  his  challenge  to  Mr.  Douglas  Newton." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Major  Selden,  stiffly,  "you 
have  been  made  aware  of  the  occasion  of  the 
duel?" 


200  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

"  I  have  not,"  said  poor  Tom,  with  an  expres 
sion  of  abject  misery.  "My  principal  instructs 
me  to  say  that  no  negotiation  except  as  to  place 
and  weapons  is  necessary,  —  he  will  consider 
none.  But  he  asks  the  privilege  of  time  to-day 
to  arrange  his  affairs  —  as  he  is  from  New  York 
and  also  has  an  engagement  to  ride  with  a  young 
lady  early  this  afternoon." 

The  Major  restrained  Douglas  with  a  mean 
ing  glance,  and  replied  :  "His  request  is  granted. 
The  time  will  be  to-morrow,  half  an  hour  sharp 
before  the  departure  of  the  morning  train  to 
Washington ;  the  place  will  be  the  little  level 
beyond  the  Lover's  Leap  —  quite  hidden  by 
trees  from  the  buildings  here ;  the  weapons, 
pistols  —  one  of  a  pair  I  have  with  me." 

Tom  bowed  and  withdrew.  "You  see,  Doug 
las,"  said  the  Major,  "we  are  in  luck.  That 
young  fellow  knows  nothing.  The  spot  I  select 
has  been  used  before  for  a  similar  purpose,  and  the 
pistol  shots,  if  heard  at  all,  awakened  no  inquiry." 

The  Major  was  so  much  exhilarated  by  the 
incident  that  he  launched  into  a  train  of  vivid 
reminiscences  of  Virginia  duels  in  which  he  had 
taken  part,  and  of  which  he  had  heard.  "It 
is  the  best  remedy  for  an  injury,"  he  said,  "and 
the  only  one  !  I  am  thankful  to  say  I  never 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  201 

had  any  part  in  a  fight  which  proved  fatal  to 
either  principal.  I  winged  my  man  once  — 
slightly -- and  never  had  a  night's  sleep  until 
he  recovered.  You  know  Jim  Barksdale  ? 
That's  the  old  fellow  —  old  now,  but  not  then, 
and  the  best  friend  I  have." 

"Should  not  the  ride  this  afternoon  be  pre 
vented  ? "  interrupted  Douglas,  gloomily. 

"How  do  you  know  it  is  to  be  with  Miss 
Berkeley  ?  Perhaps  he  will  ride  with  Miss 
Kitty  Burns.  They  are  sometimes  together. 
Don't  worry  about  that.  I'll  see  to  it.  Shirley 
shall  not  ride  with  Mr.  Blake  to-day,  if  I  have 
to  break  her  neck  to  prevent  it.  But  as  I  was 
saying,  we  have  had  no  duel  comparable  in 
interest  to  one  my  father  remembers.  I  was  a 
boy  at  the  time,  and  never  shall  forget  the  excite 
ment  caused  by  it." 

"Hamilton  and  Aaron  Burr,  of  course,"  said 
Douglas,  wishing  to  help  along  a  story  that 
promised  to  require  time  in  the  telling. 

"  No,  sir !  Not  at  all !  A  different  affair 
with  altogether  a  different  result.  I  allude  to 
Henry  Clay's  duel  with  John  Randolph.  Of 
course,  you've  read  Tom  Jones!  In  one  of 
Mr.  Randolph's  outbursts  in  the  Senate  he 
called  the  Union  of  the  President  and  Henry 


202  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Clay  'the  coalition  of  Blifil  and  Black  George; 
the  combination  of  the  Puritan  and  the  blackleg.' 
According  to  the  ruling  sentiment  at  Washington 
there  was  but  one  result  which  could  follow  such 
language  as  this.  Mr.  Randolph  and  Mr.  Clay 
must  exchange  shots,  and  so  they  did;  Mr. 
Clay's  ball  cutting  Mr.  Randolph's  coat  near  the 
hip,  and  Mr.  Randolph's  ball  burying  itself  in  a 
stump  in  the  rear  of  Mr.  Clay.  On  the  second 
round,  Randolph  received  Clay's  shot  which 
was  happily  without  effect,  and  then  raising  his 
pistol,  fired  in  the  air.  'You  owe  me  a  coat, 
Mr.  Clay,'  said  he,  advancing  and  holding  out 
his  hand.  'I  am  glad  the  debt  is  no  greater,' 
was  the  reply,  and  so  the  matter  ended.  Mr. 
Benton  said  it  was  among  the  'highest  toned' 
duels  that  he  ever  witnessed.  But  you  are  not 
going  ?  Well,  everything  is  being  done  just 
right.  Make  yourself  perfectly  easy." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  Douglas  Newton  turned  away  from 
Blake  in  the  Lover's  Walk,  the  latter  found  a  seat 
behind  a  tree,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  his  plans 
in  accordance  with  the  new  turn  affairs  had 
taken.  He  perceived  he  had  been  rash  in 
challenging  Newton,  and  cursed  his  folly.  And 
yet  —  he  would  not  now  be  exposed  to  Dr. 
Berkeley.  Until  the  fight  was  over,  he  would 
be  safe.  That  was  an  exhilarating  thought. 
Many  things  might  happen  in  twenty-four 
hours.  True,  he  was  irrevocably  committed, 
and  Newton  was,  without  doubt,  awaiting  him 
at  Major  Selden's  rooms.  He  must  find  some 
body  to  act  for  him.  No  danger  of  Major 
Selden's  hinting  anything  to  the  Berkeleys  — 
he  dared  not  arouse  suspicion. 

And  after  all,  he  reflected,  what  was  it  all 
about  ?  What  did  Shirley  care  about  him  ? 
Ah,  he  was  pretty  sure  of  her !  Her  coquetry 
proved  it !  He  had  never  felt  the  faintest  fear 
of  failure.  It  was  impossible  he  should  fail. 
Shirley  had  accepted  his  gifts  of  flowers,  his 

203 


204  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

homage,  his  flattery  —  and  pray  why  not  ? 
Was  there  one  in  ail  her  train  that  could  lay  so 
much  at  her  feet  ?  And,  by  George,  she  was 
worth  it !  She  was  just  the  type  of  American 
woman  the  English  rave  over.  Spirited,  too, 
—  could  thrust  as  well  as  parry.  But  this  was 
no  time  to  linger  over  the  lady's  charms.  His 
hour  for  prompt  action  had  come.  A  bold  step 
would  result  in  success.  Once  having  given  her 
promise,  Shirley  would  listen  to  nothing  against 
him.  She  would  become  his  ally,  his  power 
ful  ally.  She  could  learn  by  accident  of  the 
impending  duel.  It  would  be  prevented.  He 
smiled  as  he  imagined  her  devotion,  her  spirited 
defence  of  him. 

He  rose  with  a  sigh.  He  must  return  to  the 
office,  hunt  up  the  registry  of  arrivals,  and  find 
a  friend.  Coming  up  the  hill,  whistling,  was 
Tom  Burns.  The  very  man  !  Boy  enough  to 
be  proud  of  the  distinction,  Kentucky  bred, 
and  trained  in  an  atmosphere  of  chivalrous 
enthusiasm,  —  quite  man  enough  for  his  pur 
pose.  Old  Selden  would  see  to  it  there  would 
be  no  deviation  from  the  Code.  The  result 
justified  his  reasoning,  and  Tom  sped  on  his 
errand. 

The  cars  from  the  North  were  drawing  into  the 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  205 

depot,  and  thither  he  repaired  for  the  special  box 
of  choice  orchids  expected  that  day  from  Balti 
more.  Opening  the  box  in  the  depot,  he  wrapped 
them  carefully,  and  took  them  himself  to  the 
isolated  little  Berkeley  cottage  near.  He  wrote 
on  his  card  an  earnest  entreaty  that  Shirley 
would  see  him,  if  but  for  one  moment,  and  enter 
ing  the  pretty  little  parlour,  he  covered  the  table 
with  the  flowers.  Shirley  had  not  left  the  cot 
tage,  and  immediately  appeared  looking  angelic 
in  her  morning  dress. 

Blake  rose  as  she  entered,  with  a  smothered 
exclamation  of  gratitude.  He  at  once  assumed 
an  air  of  intense  agitation.  "Shirley,"  he  said, 
"I  must  speak!  I  must!  I  have  not  slept! 
You  were  cruelly  cold  to  me  last  night.  I  have 
been  in  the  woods  since  dawn  and  I  have  felt  at 
times  that  I  should  lose  my  reason  !  No,  no, 
I  entreat  you  to  listen  !  You  know  my  feelings 
for  you  —  and  yet  you  give  me  no  word  !  I 
can  bear  it  no  longer !  My  heart  is  breaking  ! 
Shirley  !  Oh  !  How  can  I  say  it  as  I  wish  ?  I 
can  do  so  much  for  you  !  You  can  lead  society 
in  London,  or  Paris,  or  New  York  —  and  come 
often  to  your  dear  old  Virginia.  Shirley,  can 
you  not  come  with  me  ?  May  I  not  serve  you 
as  I  shall  love  you  all  my  life  ?" 


206  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

But  Shirley  stood  looking  at  him  without 
blush  or  tremor.  She  could  not  control  a  faint 
smile  as  she  marked  his  careful  toilet,  his  well- 
groomed  appearance,  not  a  bit  dishevelled  by 
his  agitated  walks  in  the  woods  at  dawn.  Her 
leadership  in  London  and  Paris  !  Was  he  try 
ing  to  play  the  impassioned  lover  ?  Was  this 
his  idea  of  making  love  ?  Really,  he  was  acting 
extremely  well !  Blake's  heart  bounded  as  he 
perceived  the  quivering  moonlight  smile,  and 
he  essayed  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  Drawing 
aloof  from  him,  she  looked  him  fully  and  calmly 
in  the  face. 

"Say  no  more,  Mr.  Blake  !  I  do  not  love 
you.  I  never  can  love  you  !  I  shall  never 
consent  to  marry  you  !  I  thank  you  for  these," 
laying  her  hand  on  the  flowers,  "but  I  can  re 
ceive  no  more,  nor  any  further  attentions  from 
you,"  and  with  her  own  graceful  little  curtsey, 
excused  herself  and  left  him  ! 

Blake  stood  a  moment  stunned  into  silence. 
"Well,  that  episode  is  closed,"  he  reflected. 
"Now  for  the  other.  Damn  the  women!" 
clenching  his  fist.  "  But  there  are  others  ! 
Lots  of  'em  !  I  seem  to  need  no  poultice  for 
any  serious  wound  !  There  are  brighter  eyes 
elsewhere  in  my  world.  No  more  bread-and- 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  207 

butter  misses  for  me.  No  more  high-strung 
proud  women.  A  woman  of  the  world  has 
sense ; "  and  pleading  that  letters  peremptorily 
demanding  replies  would  occupy  him,  he  shut 
himself  in  his  own  rooms.  There  Tom  Burns 
found  him  and  made  his  report. 

"Very  satisfactory  !  Thank  you,  old  fellow. 
Now  dismiss  me  from  your  mind,  and  be  sure 
to  be  in  time,  sharp,  to-morrow  morning.  No, 
you  needn't  call  for  me  !  I'll  come  with  Nappy. 
If  two  of  us  drive  off  together,  people  may  sus 
pect  something.  Half  an  hour  before  the  cars 
leave  ?  All  right.  —  Make  it  three-quarters  at 
least." 

"Nothing  has  been  said  about  a  physician," 
said  Burns.  "We  forgot  that !" 

Blake  answered  with  a  shrug  and  grimace  : 
"Leave  that  to  old  Selden.  The  more  you  give 
him  to  do,  the  better  he'll  like  it  —  fussy  old 
party." 

"I  was  thinking  I'd  ask  Dr.  Berkeley." 

"Unthink  it,  then.  Not  a  word !  Not  a 
breath  to  living  soul  or  we  might  be  interrupted. 
Anything  but  that !  Of  course,  I've  business 
letters  to  write  and  shall  not  appear  again 
to-day.  Don't  you  go  moping  about.  Dance 
and  behave  as  usual." 


2o8  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

His  second,  in  a  state  of  profound  admiration, 
left  him,  and  followed  his  advice.  He  resolved 
that  so  noble  an  example  of  manly  courage  and 
honourable  sentiment  should  never  be  lost.  As 
to  Douglas,  the  day  passed  like  a  dream.  From 
his  window  he  saw  Chester  and  Stanley  duly  led 
to  the  Berkeley  cottage  —  for  a  countermand 
ing  order  had  been  forgotten  —  and  as  duly 
dismissed.  The  Major  has  been  vigilant,  he 
reflected.  He  spoke  to  Mrs.  Berkeley  during 
the  day,  and  she  excused  Shirley.  "She  hopes 
to  see  you  to-morrow.  To-day  she  needs  rest." 
He  wrote  to  his  brother  Harry  at  the  University 
and  gave  the  letter  to  the  Major  to  be  delivered 
in  case  of  disaster  to  himself.  He  referred  Harry 
to  Major  Selden  for  all  explanations,  which  were 
to  be  made  also  to  Dr.  Berkeley,  and  then  com 
mitting  himself  and  all  he  loved  to  the  God  of 
his  fathers,  he  slept  long  and  dreamlessly. 

The  morning  sun  rose  in  all  its  glory,  and  as 
the  Major,  Douglas,  and  Dr.  Caldwell  passed 
through  the  Lover's  Walk,  the  thrushes  and 
robins  poured  out  their  morning  song  of  praise. 
A  carriage  was  already,  by  their  orders,  waiting 
near  the  grounds,  but  out  of  sight.  Tom  Burns, 
in  an  agony  of  excitement,  was  pacing  to  and 
fro.  The  Doctor  touched  young  Newton's 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  209 

wrist.  "Sound  as  a  dollar,"  he  announced, 
"regular  and  full." 

The  fateful  hour  was  at  hand,  and  Burns  cast 
anxious  glances  around  for  his  principal.  The 
hour  came.  Blake  had  not  yet  appeared.  Fif 
teen  minutes  more,  —  no  signs  of  him.  Pres 
ently  a  steam  whistle  announced  the  coming  of 
the  Northern-bound  train.  Ten  minutes  more 
and  the  whistle  signalled  its  departure. 

"We  are  here  on  a  fool's  errand,"  said  Major 
Selden.  "The  coward  has  shirked  the  fight ! 
Under  no  circumstances  will  we  now  grant  it." 

"I  do  not  renounce  allegiance  to  Mr.  Blake 
nor  disown  him  utterly  until  further  informa 
tion,"  said  Tom  Burns,  in  a  choking  voice.  "I 
am  here  as  his  representative,  and  I  now  offer 
to  meet  Mr.  Newton  in  Mr.  Blake's  place." 

"We  have  no  quarrel  with  this  gentleman," 
said  the  Major.  "  We  will  now  return  to  our 
headquarters  —  and  seek  some  refreshment  after 
our  morning's  disappointment." 

At  the  hotel  it  was  learned  that  Mr.  Blake 
had  settled  his  accounts  the  night  before  and  left 
in  the  morning  train,  leaving  no  address. 

Douglas  would  gladly  have  returned  at  once 
to  Newton  Hall.  Apart  from  his  interest  in 
Shirley  the  gay  watering-place,  in  his  present 


210  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

state  of  mind,  held  no  charm  for  him.  He  had 
come  prepared  to  remain  if  his  presence  should  be 
needed,  but  everything  was  now  definitely  settled. 
Blake  was  utterly  extinguished  —  "snuffed  out," 
as  Major  Selden  said.  "  If  he  ever  shows  his  face 
in  Virginia,  he'll  wish  he  had  never  been  born. 
It  has  been  the  greatest  good  luck,"  added  the 
Major,  "that  only  you  and  I  knew  the  cause  of 
the  quarrel.  I  have  been  in  terror  lest  somebody 
should  suggest  it.  Nobody  seems  to  have  imag 
ined  it.  You  had  just  come,  and  an  old  grudge  is 
supposed  to  have  existed  between  you.  The 
only  thing  they  do  know  is  that  a  challenge  passed 
between  you,  and  the  challenger  ran  away.  Of 
course  young  Burns,  with  all  the  wish  in  the 
world  to  be  prudent,  must  have  unconsciously 
let  some  word  slip  from  him,  look,  gesture  — 
something.  Then  the  hack  had  driven  up  and 
driven  away ;  the  driver  told  all  he  knew  of 
course.  And  now  here  are  the  warrants  from 
the  County  Court !  We'll  have  to  go  to  Lewis- 
burg  to  obey  them.  We  broke  the  laws  although 
there  was  no  fight." 

Confronted  with  the  Judge,  the  only  witnesses 

—  the  Major,  Douglas,  Dr.  Caldwell,  and  Burns 

—  declared  that  they  could  not  incriminate  them 
selves,  and  therefore  could  not  answer ;  —  and 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  211 

the  Judge,  as  he  had  often  done  before  on  similar 
occasions,  dismissed  the  case.  "I  hope,"  said 
Dr.  Berkeley,  "that  Newton  comes  out  of  this 
affair  unscathed." 

"The  result  proves  it,"  the  Major  assured 
him,  "and  I  think,  Charles,  I  may  say  that  my 
own  participation  goes  for  something.  Make 
yourself  easy  !  Douglas  Newton  has  the  highest 
place  in  my  esteem,  my  admiration.  I  am 
proud  to  have  served  him." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley  to  Shirley, 
"  if  Anne  Page  had  anything  to  do  with  that  quar 
rel  ?  Douglas  isn't  the  man  to  brook  any  inter 
ference  with  his  rights." 

"  You  know  as  much  as  I  do,  Mama ;  I  was 
not  Anne's  confidante." 

"But  you  might  reasonably  expect  confidence 
from  Douglas." 

"  I  might  —  but  I  did  not  have  it.  I  feel  that 
I  know  very  little  of  Douglas  Newton." 

Something  in  her  tone  arrested  her  mother. 
"My  darling,"  she  said  tenderly,  "we  see  too 
little  of  each  other  at  this  place.  All  the  girls 
seem  so  happy,  —  I  hope  you  are,  too.  Some 
times  I  wish  I  could  just  look  right  into  that  dear 
little  heart  of  yours  !  Is  it  possible  you  felt  an 
interest  in  — " 


212  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

"No,  no,  Mama  darling;  I  know  what  you 
mean.  If  you  look  in  my  heart,  you'll  find  your 
self  in  every  corner  of  it  —  and  as  to  my  interest 
in  Mr.  Blake,  I  refused  him  positively,  decidedly, 
the  morning  before  he  left.  He  was  very  much 
surprised." 

"And  you  never  told  me  !" 

"You  never  asked  me,  you  know.  Somehow 
I  never  like  to  tell  such  things.  They  are  so 
unpleasant.  If  a  girl  has  to  endure  them  now 
and  then,  she  needn't  make  other  people  feel 
badly  to  hear  about  them.  And  I  think  a  man 
must  feel  pretty  badly,  too.  I  think  a  girl  should 
always  try  to  avoid  hurting  the  man  who  has 
certainly  paid  her  a  high  compliment,  —  but 
if  he  will  rush  upon  his  fate,  she  should  do  the 
best  she  can  for  him.  She  ought  to  keep  his  se 
cret  as  carefully  as  he  keeps  it  himself.  That's 
all  there  is  about  it,"  she  concluded,  kissing  her 
mother  fondly,  and  turning  away  that  she  might 
not  betray  herself. 

The  hotel  in  great  excitement  had  its  theories, 
varying  according  to  the  diverse  temperaments 
and  experiences  of  its  inmates. 

"I  wonder  if  she  had  given  him  the  mitten  ?" 
said  the  lady  from  Kentucky. 

"  Looks  like  it,"  said  General  Robertson.    "  She 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  213 

might  have  had  a  little  more  consideration. 
Dancing  men  are  scarce  this  season.  To  discard 
one  of  them  in  the  middle  of  August  is  simply 
flat  burglary." 

"I  have  a  presentiment,"  said  the  lady,  "that 
this  is  going  to  be  an  unfortunate  season.  Some 
thing  more  is  going  to  happen  before  we  get  away 
from  here.  First  the  old  President  descends  upon 
us,  engrossing  everybody's  attention,  and  then 
these  young  men  absorb  everybody  !  Attention 
due  the  young  girls  is  all  directed  into  other 
channels.  But  God  forbid  I  should  make  you 
men  vainer  than  you  are  already  !  You  don't 
think  small  beer  of  yourselves  !  It  is  occasion 
for  public  thanksgiving  if  one  of  you  gets  the 
mitten.  For  my  own  part  I  did  not  consider 
Blake  good  enough  for  Shirley  Berkeley." 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  General.  "What  man  is 
good  enough  for  her  ?  What  man  is  good  enough 
for  any  woman  ?  None  that  I  ever  knew.  How 
ever,  the  Lord  made  them  to  match  each  other. 
His  will  be  done  !  God  forbid  I  should  fly  in 
the  face  of  Providence." 

"All  of  which  comes  well  from  you  —  you 
obstinate,  delightful,  hopeless  old  bachelor.  But, 
seriously,  you  must  stand  by  me,  General,  and 
help  me.  I  haven't  brought  my  daughters  all 


2i4  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

the  way  from  Kentucky  to  spend  White  Sulphur 
time  discussing  a  possible  duel.  We'd  as  well 
have  stayed  at  home  where  the  duels  actually 
come  off  !  As  soon  as  we  get  our  breath  after 
this  flurry  we  must  have  a  Bal  Poudre  with  Span 
ish  dances.  I  can  coach  Hazazar.  I  know  the 
Saraband  if  he  doesn't.  Do,  pray,  keep  the 
crowd  in  a  good  humour  for  a  while.  We  must 
make  some  effort  —  but  I  have  my  presenti 
ment!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DOUGLAS  NEWTON  left  the  Springs  as  soon  as 
he  was  released  by  the  Lewisburg  judge.  Beyond 
the  casual  courtesies  of  watering-place  life  and 
talk,  he  had  held  no  conversation  with  Shirley. 
The  duel  was,  of  course,  not  alluded  to.  With 
Dorothea  and  her  little  friend,  he  took  one  long 
walk  from  which  Milly  was  glad  to  be  excused. 
They  explored  a  neighbouring  hillside,  gathering, 
in  the  most  barren  places,  great  stalks  of  the 
wonderful  mountain  primrose,  —  so  opulent,  so 
gorgeous  ;  as  though  nature,  rioting  in  riches,  had 
defied  every  untoward  circumstance  of  sterile 
soil,  drought,  what  not ;  —  bringing  into  perfec 
tion  scores  on  scores  of  great  yellow  cups,  new 
and  glorious  every  morning,  looking  as  if  they 
had  caught  the  golden  sunset  glow  of  the  evening. 
Nothing  among  the  pampered  beauties  of  the 
most  skilled  florist  could  equal  these  children  of 
desert  places.  These  he  had  gathered  and  sent 
them  with  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  Berkeley  — 
his  sole  attention  to  her  party. 

Douglas  was  conscious  of  nothing  so  much  as 

215 


216  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

a  keen  desire  to  return  home  that  he  might  for 
ward  the  troublesome  task  before  him.  From 
his  soul  he  thanked  God  that  Shirley  had  been 
rescued  from  the  perils  that  threatened  her  — 
perils  brought  upon  her  by  his  own  imprudence ; 
but  of  her  possible  wound  in  the  matter  he 
knew  nothing.  His  heart  was  very  sore,  poor 
fellow.  As  Dorothea,  in  their  walk,  prattled 
beside  him,  he  heard  little  except  when  she 
appealed  to  him  in  her  discussions  with  little 
Jack. 

"Don't  forget  to  invite  me  to  your  wedding, 
Newton,"  said  the  Major,  as  the  men  clasped 
hands  at  parting.  "Let  me  be  second  sometime 
when  the  principal  doesn't  run  away." 

"May  it  be  soon,  my  dear  Major.  But  you 
will  be  the  principal !" 

"Well,  you  see,  my  boy,  Mary  Berkeley  decided 
that  matter  for  me  twenty-five  years  ago.  She 
was  a  very  slight  slip  of  a  girl  to  shape  with  her 
little  hands  a  man's  life.  But  that's  just  what 
she  did  for  me.  You  don't  suppose  Shirley  would 
have  me,  do  you  ?" 

"Quien  sdbe?"   said  Douglas. 

The  Major  held  his  hand  a  moment  and  looked 
at  him  thoughtfully.  "One  thing  I  do  know  ! 
There's  no  *  priory  attachment,'  as  that  funny 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  217 

fellow  Sam  Weller  said,  —  no  lingering  regret  for 
the  scoundrel  who  has  been  following  her    all 


summer." 


"How  can  you  know  ?"  said  Douglas.  "Can 
any  man  know  these  things  ? " 

"Because,"  said  the  Major,  "she  told  me  her 
self.  I  asked  her,  point  blank  —  straight  from 
the  shoulder  —  honour  bright.  'Twas  a  'par 
lous  '  thing  for  a  man  to  do,  and  there's  many  a 
pretty  girl  I  wouldn't  have  believed  on  oath. 
But,  bless  her  !  She's  Mary's  daughter,  and  as 
clear  as  crystal.  I  believe  her !  You  are  not 
to  imagine  now  I  was  prospecting  for  myself. 
I  belong  to  Mary  —  Hello  !  There's  your  train 
moving  -  -  jump  on  !  God  bless  you." 

Now  as  Douglas  pondered  this  wonderful  reve 
lation,  he  reasoned  that  no  gain  could  come  to 
him  through  her  escape  from  Blake.  Person 
ally  it  would  mean  nothing  to  him.  The 
Judge's  revelation  had  ended  all  that.  Shirley 
had  given  him  no  sign  of  interest  even.  She 
had  treated  him  with  studied  coldness.  What 
ever  the  future  held  for  him,  it  was  borne  upon 
him  that  the  supreme  crown  and  glory  of  a 
man's  life  would  be  denied  him.  For,  of  course, 
he  would  never  change  !  He  would  strive,  as 
other  men  had  striven,  with  no  reward  for  en- 


2i8  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

deavour  or  achievement.  Imagination  antici 
pated  some  day  when  he  and  the  Major  — both 
old  and  grey  —  would  meet  and  compare  notes. 
"And  so  you  would  not  be  warned,  my  boy  !" 
"No,  Major  !  We  are  in  the  same  boat.  There 
has  been  no  other  for  either  of  us." 

It  was  now  near  the  end  of  August.  By 
October  he  hoped  to  finish  the  irksome  transfer 
of  his  plantation  and  personal  effects  to  Harry's 
adjoining  quarters  at  Cross  Roads,  which,  fortu 
nately,  were  reached  by  a  private  road.  Enough 
provender  for  Mr.  Benson's  cattle  to  last  until 
the  next  harvests  was  to  be  left  behind  —  as 
well  as  meat  and  breadstuffs  for  his  family. 
There  was  yet  much  to  be  done.  Up  to  the  pres 
ent  moment  the  neighbours  had  learned  nothing 
of  the  new  arrangement,  nor  would  Mr.  Benson 
be  informed  —  as  the  Judge  advised  —  until 
Douglas  had  removed  his  goods  from  the  Beech- 
wood  plantation. 

The  best  part  of  a  summer's  outing  is  the  home 
coming  !  Dr.  Berkeley  carried  a  thorn  in  his 
bosom.  Douglas  had  not  withdrawn  it  by  any, 
the  least,  cordiality  of  manner  during  his  brief 
stay  at  the  Springs.  Mrs.  Berkeley,  always 
sensitive  to  the  moods  of  her  husband,  felt  a 
vague  uneasiness  ;  Dorothea  grieved  to  part  from 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  219 

little  Jack,  and  Shirley's  manner  evinced  effort 
for  the  cheerfulness  which  had  been  hitherto 
spontaneous. 

But  all  clouds  passed  away  before  the  sunshine 
of  the  Colonel's  welcoming  face,  with  Primrose, 
the  little  cart,  and  Pizarro,  —  the  latter's  glitter 
ing  smile,  as  Aunt  Prissy  remarked,  "stretching 
from  ear  to  ear  and  buttoning  in  the  back"  — 
and  Aunt  Prissy  herself  in  the  big  carriage,  with 
Uncle  Peter  on  the  box,  driving  Brandy  and 
Soda  !  Ah  !  but  it  was  good  to  be  at  home  ! 
Never,  never  would  they  leave  it  again  ! 

Dahlias,  marigolds,  salvia,  autumn  roses, 
made  glorious  the  circle  in  front  of  the  house. 
Andy,  with  an  overflowing  basket,  was  at  the 
door,  old  Isham,  Hannah,  Minerva,  Dilsey  — 
all  at  hand  with  smiles  and  greeting.  Dorothea's 
arms  were  instantly  around  Flora's  neck,  much 
to  the  surprise  of  two  young  Floras  and  their 
brother,  twisting  and  turning  about  in  ecstasy 
at  the  evident  good  humour  of  the  company; 
but  slinking  away  crestfallen  as  Gabriella,  with 
uplifted  tail,  rounded  the  corner  of  the  house. 
The  truce  with  Flora  she  respected,  but  it  did  not 
extend  to  another  generation,  as  the  puppies 
knew  but  too  well. 

When  Dr.  Berkeley  looked  around  his  bountiful 


220  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

supper-table,  his  eyes  kindled.  "If  you  want 
my  opinion,"  he  declared,  "I  should  say  Aunt 
Prissy  grows  younger  and  handsomer  everyday  ! " 

"And  if  you  ask  mine,"  rejoined  the  old  lady, 
"I  should  say  you  all  look  as  if  you  had  been 
through  the  wars.  It'll  take  a  month  of  regular 
hours  to  make  you  decent-looking." 

"How  is  everybody  ?"  asked  the  Doctor,  de 
fiant  of  grammar  rules.  "Especially  Mrs.  Pon- 
sonby  —  poor  old  dear  !  How  she  must  have 
missed  me  !" 

"Mrs.  Ponsonby  has  renewed  her  youth ! 
She  hasn't  had  a  twinge  of  gout  since  you  left 
—  rode  over  twice  to  see  me,  and  was  mighty 
civil  to  James."  And  so  on,  with  jest  and  laugh 
ter,  until  they  all  separated  for  various  interviews 
with  the  servants  of  the  household,  the  Doctor 
ordering  early  hours  for  his  travellers  and  recom 
mending  the  same  to  his  Aunt  and  the  Colonel. 

The  Doctor  rose  early  next  morning  to  make 
the  rounds  of  stable  and  garden  before  he  set 
forth  on  his  professional  errands.  He  found  the 
gardener  spading  a  sunny  border  for  an  autumn 
planting  of  new  Holland  bulbs. 

"Working  before  breakfast,  Andy  ?  That  is 
not  wise.  You  might  send  up  to  Hannah  for  a 
cup  of  coffee." 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  221 

"Na,  na  !"  said  the  gardener.  "I  hae  nowt 
to  do  wi'  the  kitchen  stuff.  I  cook  my  ain  kail- 
brose  and  parritch,  and  Miss  Prissy  sends  me  cold 
meat  frae  the  pantry.  I  always  pit  a  sprig  o' 
mint  in  my  parritch ;  and  when  I  mak  it  mysel, 
ne'er  a  bit  is  it  burned,  —  whilk  is  mair  than  can 
be  said,  I  trow,  of  some  ithers." 

The  Doctor  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
gardener,  whom  he  had  rescued,  several  years 
before,  from  the  miseries  of  a  wayside  tavern, 
where  he  lay  with  a  leg  broken  in  a  railway  acci 
dent.  The  Doctor  had  set  the  limb  and  brought 
the  poor  fellow  home  for  treatment.  After  his 
recovery,  Angus  had  positively  refused  to  leave  ! 
He  was  a  gardener !  There  was  the  garden,  — 
literally  crying  aloud  for  intelligent  treatment. 
He  took  command  at  once  with  the  firm  hand  of 
authority  while  on  his  crutches,  and  worked  with 
wonderful  results  after  they  were  no  longer 
needed.  He  was  always  eager  to  talk,  and  Dr. 
Berkeley  often  came  to  have,  as  Andy  said, 
"  a  crack  wi'  an  honest  Scotchman." 

The  Doctor  now  looked  thoughtfully  at  his 
bent  figure.  :<  Why  don't  you  go  to  work, 
Andy,  and  try  to  get  yourself  a  wife  ?"  he  said 
kindly. 

"An'  wha  says  Angus  hasna  tried,  —  an'  mair 


222  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

than  ance,  —  an'  the  last  time  will  be  the  last 
time." 

"Come  on,  Andy,  and  tell  me  about  it." 

"Weel,  then,  sin'  yer  Honour  is  sae  kind,  I'll 
e'en  tell  ye,"  said  the  gardener,  leaning  on  his 
spade.  "Ye  .ken  I  gang  twa  Sabba-days  in  ae 
month  to  the  Presbyterian  Kirk  yonder,  and  hae 
made  bold  to  sit  beside  a  tidy  auld  lass,  wha 
kindly  reads  out  o'  her  hymn-beuk  wi'  me,  — 
seein'  I  havena  in  mine  just  the  forms  o'  her  ain. 
Weel,  on  the  Sabba-days  atween  the  twa,  I  hae 
been  walking  ower  to  hae  a  spell  o'  godly  conversa 
tion  wi'  her  at  her  ain  place  :  an'  I  hae  gi'en  her  a 
few  peaches,  an'  kidney-beans,  an'  new  pertaties 
an*  the  airly  seckle  peers  frae  time  to  time,  as  I 
ken  weel  yer  Honour  wadna  grudge  her.  It  hae 
been  unco'  lanely  here,  ye  ken,  this  simmer,  wi' 
the  creature  Isam  aye  at  me  for  fruit  for  Miss 
Prissy's  kettles  an'  the  Colonel  writin'  an'  gang 
ing  aboot  wi'  ne'er  a  word  for  Angus  or  onybody. 
I'm  thinkin'  he's  writin'  a  beuk  an'  - 

"Yes,  yes,  Andy;  get  on  with  the  story  of 
your  matrimonial  venture.  I'm  in  a  little  hurry, 
you  see,  and  don't  want  to  miss  it." 

"Weel,  as  I  was  sayin',  ae  day  the  auld  lass 
looked  sae  dowie  an'  lanely,  I'se  up  and  spier't 
to  her  wad  she  accept  a  Macgillicuddy  tartan, 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  223 

wi'  a  bit  mannie  in  it  ?  An'  for  her  mair  satis 
faction,  I  tapped  my  bosom  in  the  region  whare 
a'  body  kens  the  loving  heart  lives  an'  beats." 

"And  she  refused  you!"  said  the  Doctor, 
striving  to  keep  his  countenance.  "Well,  what 
of  it  ?  Don't  despair  !  Try  again." 

"Na,  na  !  She  said  eneugh  for  a'  time,  I'se 
warrand.  She  ups  wi'  the  broom  an'  skirled  for 
me  to  'clear  out,'  —  whate'er  that  may  mean. 
We  hae  nae  sic  language  in  Scotland." 

"And  you  bowed  yourself  out  accordingly?" 

"  I  hadna  time  to  bow  !  Ye  sud  a  seen  auld 
Angus  speel  ower  the  hedge  like  a  maukin  !  It's 
weel  ye  mendit  his  brukken  leg !  Nae  time  for 
the  gate !  —  whilk  is  always  tied  wi'  a  rope. 
She  needna  hae  been  sae  spunkie !  She's  a 
daughter,  I  trow,  o'  the  first  gardener;  an'  a 
Macgillicuddy  was  wi'  the  Bruce,  I  can  tell  'er. 
I  can  gie  her  a  Roland  for  her  Oliver,  I'se  be 
bound  !  Oliver,  indeed  ! "  and  he  began  to  spade 
with  zeal  born  of  his  indignation. 

"'Oliver'?    Andy!     Why,  surely—" 

"E'en  sae  —  Miss  Betty  Oliver,  they  ca'  her, 
and  Betty  Oliver  she  may  remain  for  a'  Angus  !" 

"Oh,  Andy,  Andy  !  that  was  a  dreadful  mis 
take  !  I  wish  I  had  been  here  to  prevent  it." 

"  I  doubt  ye  couldna  !     I  hae  mair  sense  the 


224  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

noo.  —  Hindsight  is  mair  convincin'  than  fore 
sight  when  a's  told ;  but  how  can  ye  win  to  it  ? 
Ye  maun  e'en  dree  yer  ain  weird  an'  bide  by 
it,  an'  sae  maun  Angus  !" 

The  Doctor's  first  professional  visit  after  an 
absence  was  always  to  old  Mrs.  Ponsonby,  the 
grande  dame  par  excellence  of  the  neighbourhood. 

Mrs.  Ponsonby  lived  in  a  large  old-fashioned 
house,  every  brick  of  which,  she  was  fain  to  be 
lieve,  had  been  brought  from  England.  Had 
she  been  thoroughly  honest  with  herself  she 
would  have  acknowledged  that  at  heart  she  was 
still  a  Tory.  She  rebelled  with  all  her  soul 
against  Mr.  Jefferson's  Democratic  teachings, 
believed  that  everybody  should  know  and  keep 
his  own  place  in  the  social  system,  be  kindly 
treated  therein,  but  rebuked  if  he  presumed  to 
leave  it.  Woe  be  to  the  unlucky  aspirant  for 
genealogical  rights  to  a  place  in  the  first  families  ! 
Should  he  venture  to  assume,  unwarranted,  a 
pheon  or  garb  or  mascle  on  his  seal,  the  purloined 
symbol  would  be  promptly  challenged  by  the 
terribly  accurate  old  lady.  Sustained  by  the 
sheriff's  lists  of  Thomas  Fuller,  —  which  she 
kept  at  hand  upon  her  library  table,  —  she 
would  make  impossible  any  future  use  of  them. 
"Why,"  she  would  indignantly  exclaim,  "should 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  225 

Americans  allow  a  fraud  punishable  by  Eng 
lish  laws  as  a  felony  ?" 

Withal  Mrs.  Ponsonby  was  an  agreeable,  in 
telligent,  and  amiable  companion ;  admired, 
although  somewhat  feared  by  her  neighbours. 
Her  conversation  with  her  accustomed  visitors 
was  very  much  on  the  "Shakespeare  and  musical 
glasses"  order,  never  descending  to  the  ordinary 
gossip  of  the  hour,  but  she  keenly  enjoyed  it 
all  the  same,  and  rejoiced  that  she  could  unbend 
with  Dr.  Berkeley  and  learn  as  much  from  him 
as  he  could  condescend  to  know  himself.  How 
ever  reserved  we  may  be  to  others,  to  our  physi 
cian  and  our  confessor  we  can  wear  no  disguises, 
and  the  Doctor  was  both  to  his  old  patient. 

But  although  Mrs.  Ponsonby  was  reckoned 
by  her  own  class  as  somewhat  "stiff,"  to  say  the 
least,  she  was  all  kindness  to  the  poor.  Her 
bountiful  baskets  reached  far  and  near.  She 
never  went  abroad  without  rilling  the  pockets 
of  her  high-swung  chariot  with  cakes  and  fruit 
for  the  barefoot  little  boys  on  the  highway. 
Many  of  the  haughty  dames  of  every  age  have 
bristled  with  repellent  manner  to  their  own  class 
and  been  angels  of  kindness  to  the  poor  and 
humble.  Ah  !  there  lies  the  subtle  wile  of  the 
tempter,  --  "humble."  It  is  not  supposed  that 
Q 


226  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

the  humble  man  will  ever  presume  to  be  an  equal  ! 
There  is  a  positive  pleasure  —  let  who  will  deny 
it  —  in  looking  down.  "  I  am  not  as  other  men," 
for  which  the  Lord  is  reverently  thanked.  The 
well-born  man  or  woman  who  is  "in  reduced  cir 
cumstances,"  who  "has  known  better  days,"  is 
never  at  heart  "humble,"  and  therefore  theirs  is 
the  bitterer  lot.  Robert  Hall  reckons  that  man 
the  truest  object  of  compassion  who  has  known 
happier  days  :  "for  in  addition  to  the  pangs  of 
poverty  he  suffers  the  stings  of  an  outraged  sen 
sibility."  Had  this  point  of  view  been  ever  pre 
sented  to  Mrs.  Ponsonby  she  would  have  con 
sidered  it,  and  profited  by  it,  —  acted  upon  it, 
—  for  she  was  sternly  upright,  and  a  devout 
churchwoman.  Her  position  was  mainly  the 
result  of  an  inherited  respect  for  law  and  estab 
lished  order,  and  for  the  suitableness  and  sym 
metry  of  the  relations  of  men  and  things,  the 
one  to  the  other.  She  was,  moreover,  a  staunch 
believer  in  the  folly  of  measuring  a  meat-axe 
with  a  Damascus  blade,  or  of  casting  one's  pearls 
before  swine.  A  certain  well-bred,  benevolent 
reserve  should  rule  unavoidable  intercourse  with 
one's  porcine  neighbours.  She  would  have 
thoroughly  understood  Sir  Hugo  Mallinger : 
"  My  dear  boy,  it  is  good  to  be  unselfish  and 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  227 

generous  ;  but  don't  carry  that  too  far.  It  will 
not  do  to  give  yourself  to  be  melted  down  for 
the  benefit  of  the  tallow  trade." 

Had  our  old  Dame  been  less  eager  to  meet 
her  beloved  physician,  she  would  have  received 
him  on  her  lounge  with  her  India  shawl  over  her 
gouty  feet.  As  it  was  she  met  him,  with  the 
shawl  over  her  shoulders,  at  the  door,  and  even 
descended,  aided  by  her  cane  and  her  old  butler, 
the  steps  of  the  veranda. 

"Well,  now  !  I  call  this  absolutely  insulting 
of  you,"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  as  he  dismissed 
"Israel"  and  gave  his  arm  to  his  old  friend, 
—  "to  get  well  while  I  am  away  !  I  never  saw 
you  looking  as  fine  !" 

"I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for  you,  Charles  ! 
Why  is  it  that,  do  what  you  will,  you  Berkeleys 
get  as  thin  as  knife-blades  ?" 

"Like  our  razorback  pigs  ?  Because  'it  is 
our  nature  to'  -as  the  verse  goes  on  to  say, 
'for  God  has  made  us  so  !" 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  what  there  is  of  you  ! 
A  mint-julep  for  the  Doctor,  Israel !  I  was 
about  to  send  out  to  old  Jacob  to  hitch  me  up 
for  a  drive  to  the  Castle.  I  was  going  to  be  the 
first  to  felicitate  Shirley.  I  heard  of  the  hand 
some  young  Englishman !  Of  course  you've 


228  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

learned  all  about  his  family  !  It  will  be  fine  to 
see  Shirley  mistress  of  — 

"Oh!  Dear  me!  Not  so  fast!"  And  the 
Doctor  proceeded  to  tell,  according  to  his 
lights,  the  story  of  the  duel.  Mrs  Ponsonby 
listened  with  keen  interest.  "Are  you  sure  it 
wasn't  young  Newton's  fault  ?  —  you  remember, 
Charles,  - 

"No,  no  !  Newton  behaved  well.  Harry  Sel- 
den  is  guarantee  for  that.  Shirley's  name, 
thank  God,  did  not  appear.  Blake  had  paid 
her  too  much  attention,  but  she  had  nothing  — 
of  that  I  feel  sure  —  to  do  with  the  affair,  —  no 
part  whatever.  By  the  bye,  Shirley  is  to  spend 
Christmas  at  the  White  House  by  the  President's 
and  Mrs.  Taylor's  urgent  invitation." 

"I  would  he  were  a  gentleman  !"  sighed  the 
old  lady.  "Why,  why  couldn't  we  have  had 
Winfield  Scott !  There's  a  man  for  you  !  And 
Mrs.  Scott  such  a  high-bred  woman.  Oh ! 
these  Democrats  !  Oh,  I  know  the  Whigs  elected 
him,  but  they  are  all  tarred  with  the  same  stick  ! 
'  Level  down,  level  down,'  —  that's  their  motto. 
I  suppose,  after  this  visit  is  over,  Shirley  need  not 
see  more  of  the  Taylors.  I  know  what  you  want 
to  say  !  Not  a  bit  of  it !  They'll  never  take 
on  even  a  thin  veneer  of  polish  and  breeding. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  229 

White  House  manners  will  slip  off  of  them  like 
an  outer  garment,  and  plain,  old  Zachary  Tay 
lor  be  his  homespun  self  again." 

"Well,  shall  I  tell  Shirley  she  mustn't  go  ?" 
"Oh,  by  no  means  !  Let  the  child  see  the 
'Republican  Court,'  and  then  take  her  to  Lon 
don  next  season.  She  will  discriminate  —  draw 
her  own  conclusions  —  never  fear.  Trust  a 
Berkeley  for  that !  "  And  so  on,  until  her  visitor 
was  compelled  to  leave,  having  had  no  time  to 
listen  to  an  account  of  her  "  symptoms  "  as  de 
veloped  during  the  dry  season. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  home-coming  set  in  motion  all  the  wheels 
of  the  busy  domestic  life  of  the  family;  the 
storing  of  fruits  for  the  winter,  the  manufacture 
into  garments  of  the  warm  linsey-woolsey  and 
jeans  for  many  servants,  which  had  been  woven 
on  the  plantation  during  the  summer,  the  fre 
quent  entertainment  of  welcoming  neighbours 
and  friends.  The  preoccupied  expression  on  the 
Doctor's  face  was  unnoticed  —  that  was  usual ; 
the  silence  and  long  walks  alone  of  the  Colonel 
awakened  no  surprise  or  comment.  Everybody 
was  busy  with  the  duties  of  the  hour.  Shirley 
had  been  claimed  by  Anne  Page  and  had  gone 
on  a  series  of  short  visits.  Her  friends  thought 
her  very  "serious  for  a  girl,"  but  wonderfully 
improved  in  health  and  beauty.  They  were 
eagerly  curious  to  learn  about  Douglas's  quarrel 
with  Blake,  which  had  become  public  prop 
erty  by  the  action  of  the  Lewisburg  judge. 
Shirley,  knowing  nothing,  could  not  enlighten 
them. 

330 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  231 

September  ripened  into  October.  There  was 
a  new  message  in  the  air.  Flocks  of  black- 
plumaged  birds  convened  for  chattering  consul 
tation  —  perhaps  for  autumnal  elections  of  a 
leader  —  on  open  spaces  in  the  reaped  wheat- 
fields  ;  the  old  negroes  watched  the  skies  for  the 
prophetic  flights  of  wild  geese;  the  long  swords 
in  the  "martial  ranks  of  corn"  rustled  with  a 
promise  of  surrender;  new  odours  were  borne 
on  the  breeze ;  the  prolonged  crescendo  and 
diminuendo  of  the  grasshopper  filled  the  air. 
The  farmer  began  to  investigate  the  condition  of 
his  hunting  apparatus,  and  the  dogs  to  prick  up 
expectant  ears.  An  early  frost  might,  it  was 
true,  spoil  a  few  flowers  or  nip  the  leaf  of  a 
neglected  tobacco  plant,  but  it  would  bring  the 
glories  of  the  autumnal  hunting.  Any  morning 
now,  the  Beechwood  pack  of  thirty  trained 
hounds  might  be  expected  to  start  a  red  fox,  and 
flash  across  the  country  with  full  cry,  to  be 
joined  by  neighbours  and  dogs,  in  the  first 
glorious  hunt. 

With  the  pine-needles  under  their  feet,  crisp 
with  frost,  little  Pizarro  and  Flora  went  every 
morning  for  the  mails.  The  boy,  duly  impressed 
with  the  responsibility  of  his  office,  and  the 
sacredness  of  his  promise  to  be  led  away  no  more 


232  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

by  a  "little  squir'l"  or  any  other  game,  found 
himself  beset  cruelly  with  temptation.  One 
morning,  as  he  trudged  along,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  every  rabbit  in  the  wood  saw  fit  to  flash  his 
cotton-tail  across  his  path,  and  he  was  kept  busy 
controlling  Flora,  whose  principles  were  extremely 
weak  on  such  occasions.  Finally  Flora  stopped 
short,  froze  into  marble,  and  stood  with  stiff, 
outstretched  tail  and  uplifted  forefoot.  Before 
he  could  think,  Pizarro  had  warned  in  a  low 
tone,  "  Take  heed  —  take  heed,"  and  Flora  quiv 
ered  with  expectation  of  the  final  "Hie  on!" 
which  would  permit  her  to  plunge  into  the 
bushes  and  send  the  partridge  aloft  on  whirring 
wing.  To  her  amazement,  the  boy  rebuked  her 
angrily. 

"Come  'ere  d'rectly,  you  fool  !  Drap  dat 
tail !  Drap  it,  I  say  !  Put  down  dat  foot  and 
come  along  'bout  yo'  business.  What  de 
Cunnel  gwine  say  when  I  tell  'im  on  you  ?" 

Meanwhile  Dr.  Berkeley  was  again  on  his 
veranda,  walking  impatiently  to  and  fro,  and 
sweeping,  with  his  glass,  the  avenue  leading  to 
the  main  road.  "Here  he  comes  at  last,"  he 
announced,  "  and  not  alone  !  Bless  my  soul ! 
Why,  this  is  Saladin,  and  Sandy  is  leading  two 
other  horses." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  233 

This  brought  the  family  from  the  breakfast- 
room  to  the  front.  Pizarro  approached,  big 
with  importance,  and  announced  that  Sandy  had 
come  with  two  ponies  and  asked  leave  to  bring 
them  around  the  circle  to  the  door.  One  proved 
to  be  a  beautiful  young  mare,  bearing  a  lady's 
saddle  and  bridle ;  the  other,  a  brisk  little  pony 
with  big  eyes  and  a  shaggy  mane,  saddled  and 
bridled  for  a  child.  Sandy  surrendered  the  reins 
to  Pizarro,  and  with  the  negro's  respectful  salu 
tation  —  pulling  his  forelock  and  scraping  his 
foot  backward  —  presented  to  Dr.  Berkeley 
two  letters  and  a  small  parcel  with  his  master's 
compliments.  One  letter  was  brief:  — 

MY  DEAR  DR.  BERKELEY  : 

After  my  conversation  with  you  in  June,  I  visited  Judge 
Watkins.  As  a  result  of  my  visit,  I  have  made  a  gift  in  fee 
simple  of  the  Beechwood  estate  to  Mr.  Benson  —  and  he  is 
now  living  on  the  place. 

When  you  receive  this,  I  shall  be  at  sea  on  my  way  to 
California. 

With  your  permission,  I  send  a  small  souvenir  to  the 
ladies  and  to  Dorothea,  and  am,  my  dear  Doctor, 

Respectfully  yours, 

DOUGLAS  NEWTON. 

The  other  letter  ran  thus :  — 


234  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

MY  DEAR  COUSIN  MARY, 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot  say  good-bye  in  person  before  I 
leave  for  California. 

I  venture  to  ask  your  acceptance  of  a  little  brooch  once 
worn  by  my  Mother, —  your  cousin,  —  and  I  send  a  chain 
with  my  love  to  Miss  Prissy.  She  knew  my  Mother  and 
can  remember  her,  as  I  do,  wearing  this  chain. 

I  have  trained  a  pony  —  Trixey  —  for  my  dear  little 
Dorothea.  Do  not  fear  to  let  her  ride  him.  He  is  very 
docile  and  affectionate. 

And  I  also  venture  to  send  a  gentle,  perfectly  kind  mare 
to  Miss  Shirley.  She  will  not  need  to  stoop  to  open  a  gate, 
—  the  mare  will  take  it  easily  and  safely.  If  Miss  Shirley 
will  whisper  her  name  Bonnibell  (bonne  et  belle}  in  her  ear, 
she  will  remember  her  old  master. 

With  my  grateful  remembrance  always,  I  am 

Your  cousin, 

DOUGLAS. 

This  astounding  news  read  aloud  was  for  a 
moment  received  in  silence.  Mrs.  Berkeley 
and  Miss  Prissy  opened  the  little  packages 
directed  to  them,  and  tears  filled  their  eyes  as 
the  jewels  were  revealed.  "Dear  Fanny  !  How 
well  I  remember  her  in  this  pearl  brooch,"  said 
Mrs.  Berkeley. 

"Poor  child  !"  said  Miss  Prissy.     "A  sweeter 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  235 

girl  never  lived  than  Fanny  Bland  !  I  can  see 
her  now  when  Henry  gave  her  this  chain  — 
after  Douglas  was  born.  Look,  James  !  Here 
are  the  dents  all  along  in  the  filigree,  where 
Douglas  cut  his  teeth  on  it.  Well  do  I  remem 
ber  how  she  laughed  when  Henry  scolded  her 
for  letting  him  spoil  it.  Dear,  dear  !  What  does 
it  all  mean,  Charles  ?  v 

The  Doctor  was  deeply  distressed,  and  turned 
to  look  for  Shirley,  —  with  a  meaning  look  at  his 
Aunt,  —  but  Shirley  had  fled  to  her  own  room. 
The  elders  could  discuss  the  matter  later,  —  but 
not  in  the  presence  of  the  children.  Dorothea, 
dancing  with  delight,  had  run  in  to  Isham  for 
lumps  of  sugar,  and  with  her  arm  around 
Trixey's  neck,  a  perfect  understanding  was 
reached  in  a  few  minutes.  She  called  to  the 
Colonel  in  ecstasy  to  look.  "He  isn't  a  bit 
afraid  of  me,  Cousin  James.  Hasn't  he  lovely 
eyes  ? " 

"Poor  Primrose,"  said  the  Colonel,  ruefully. 

"No,  no!"  said  Dorothea,  "I  can  have  two 
people  to  love  —  Douglas  and  you,  —  and  two 
horses,  Trixey  and  Primrose." 

"We  are  second  already  —  not  first,"  moaned 
the  Colonel,  with  mock  distress.  But  Dorothea 
was  galloping  down  the  avenue  with  flying  curls, 


236  THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 

and  turning  at  the  gate,  was  coming  in  fine 
style  on  the  home  stretch.  Sandy  looked  on  in 
glee,  but  felt  the  beautiful  mare  had  not  been 
appreciated. 

"Dish  yer's  one  o'  Diomed's  fillies,"  he  said 
proudly,  patting  her  shoulder.  "She  got  sense 
same  as  folks.  Nobody  ain'  train  'er  but  Marse 
Douglas,  he  se'f."  The  boy  looked  away  with 
quivering  lip,  and  the  Doctor,  too  much  over 
come  for  words,  turned  him  over  to  Milly  for 
refreshment  and  comfort. 

Poor  Shirley,  struggling  for  self-command  in 
her  own  room,  felt  that  she  was  enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  mystery.  She  had  not  understood 
Douglas  during  his  visit,  less  at  the  Springs,  least 
of  all  now.  Why  had  he  sold  Beechwood  ? 
Why  had  he  gone  to  California  ?  Last  of  all, 
why,  why  could  not  she,  Shirley,  thrust  him  out 
from  her  own  heart,  her  constant  thoughts,  her 
prayers.  Her  prayers  ?  Never !  Whether  he 
belonged  to  Anne  or  not,  she,  they,  all  of  us, 
belonged  to  God,  and  to  God  the  sorely  tried 
girl  confided  herself  and  him,  imploring  love, 
mercy,  and  protection. 

She  was  ready  in  an  hour  to  return,  serene 
and  comforted,  to  her  family. 

"Where   is    my   gallant   steed  ?"   she   asked. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  237 

"Have  you  given  her  some  breakfast?  Saddle 
her  and  bring  her  out,  Pizarro." 

With  a  bright  glance  at  the  Colonel,  she  bent 
her  lips  to  the  mare's  ear,  "Your  master  says 
you  must  love  me  —  Bonnibell,"  she  whis 
pered,  and  instantly,  with  a  soft  whinny,  the 
mare  knelt  to  receive  her  burden.  Shirley 
sped  away,  bare-head,  down  the  avenue. 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  "she 
has  taken  the  gate  like  a  bird.  There  she  goes 
up  the  road !  Look !  She  is  back  over  the 
gate  again." 

"What  do  you  make  of  it,  Charley?"  asked 
the  Colonel,  —  "this  extraordinary  conduct  of 
Douglas  Newton's  ?  I  had  supposed  him  sin 
gularly  free  from  the  auri  sacra  fames  of  Virgil." 

The  poor  Doctor  shook  his  head.  Nothing 
could  have  induced  him  to  betray  the  secret  that 
burdened  his  bosom.  Others  might  be  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  the  sudden  flight  of  the  young 
man, --he  could  understand  it.  Sensitive, 
wounded,  —  unable  to  meet  the  eyes  of  his 
fellows.  It  was  too  sad. 

The  October  Court  brought  together  all  the 
men  of  the  county.  Before  the  Court  opened, 
and  during  recess,  nothing  was  so  much  dis 
cussed  —  not  even  the  price  of  tobacco  —  as 


238  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"young  Newton's  sale  of  Beechwood."  Wing- 
field,  the  overseer,  found  himself  important. 
No  oyster  in  its  shell  could  have  been  more 
hopelessly  inaccessible  than  Wingfield  to  hints, 
clever  leading,  downright  questioning.  Was  it 
true  that  Mr.  Newton  no  longer  owned  Beech- 
wood  ?  "True  —  there  was  Mr.  Benson  —  ask 
him."  That  experiment,  however,  was  not 
to  be  considered.  Was  it  true  that  both  boys 
would  live  at  the  Cross  Roads  ?  Ah !  that 
Wingfield  himself  did  not  know.  He  only 
knew  that  he  was  overseer  there,  and  expected 
to  put  in  a  heavy  crop  next  year. 

That  Douglas  should  have  caught  the  gold 
fever  surprised  every  one.  True,  he  had  been  a 
traveller  —  not  yet  "settled  down,"  not  yet 
learned,  said  the  older  men,  that  those  would 
"prosper  best  who  pursued  the  even  tenor  of 
plodding  industry  and  professional  learning, 
unaffected  by  insane  schemes  of  hoarding  up 
masses  of  the  shining  ore." 

This  wisdom,  designed  for  the  young  men,  fell 
upon  unheeding  ears.  The  sacra  fames  had 
smitten  "mankind  from  China  to  Peru."  Midas 
had  touched  the  sands  of  the  Sierras  and 
bathed  in  a  Western  Pactolus.  All  the  nations 
of  the  earth  had  gathered  in  one  little  corner  of 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  239 

the  globe,  to  dig  the  sands  and  dredge  the 
river.  Said  a  contemporary  journalist:  "Punch 
itself  has  allowed  Lord  Brougham  a  respite 
from  caricature,  and  instead  of  weekly  repro 
ductions  of  his  checked  breeches  and  his  remark 
able  nose,  brings  out  prints  of  the  gold  diggings 
with  the  emigrants  that  are  flocking  thereto." 
At  a  recent  representation  of  l  Robert  le  Diable ' 
in  a  little  town  in  France  celebrated  for  its 
white  wines  and  its  red  politics,  an  apology  was 
made  for  the  absence  of  the  tenor  who  was  to 
sing  'L'Or  est  une  Chimere  !'  He  had  'gone  off 
to  the  gold  region' !  In  the  remote  islands  of 
Oceanica  the  voice  of  the  missionary  was  mute. 
His  before-time  hearers  had  listened  to  the 
voice  of  a  siren  who  told  of  enchanted  lands 
nearer  than  heaven.  All  races  of  men,  however 
divided  or  differing  in  physical  characteristics, 
had  agreed  with  the  fellow  in  Beranger's  song  :  — 

"  Que  dans  mes  mains  pleuve  de  1'or, 
De  1'or, 
De  1'or, 
Et  j'en  fais  mon  affaire  !  " 


CHAPTER  XX 

As  the  autumn  wore  on,  Shirley  attached  her 
self  more  and  more  closely  to  the  Colonel.  On 
fine  days  they  were  much  in  the  saddle ;  for 
Shirley  was  nowhere  so  happy  as  when  borne  by 
the  beautiful  Bonnibell.  She  made  brief  visits 
to  her  neighbours,  accompanied  always  by  the 
Colonel,  sometimes  by  Dorothea  and  Trixey. 

On  one  afternoon,  Shirley  and  her  cavalier 
had  found,  a  long  way  from  home,  a  road  new  to 
them,  and  she  proposed  they  should  explore  it. 
It  entered  a  dense  wood,  and  for  many  miles 
no  opening  or  building  appeared.  A  dark  cloud 
came  up,  and  the  pretty,  sensitive  mare  crouched 
at  the  lightning  and  thunderclaps.  "We  must 
get  out  of  the  wood  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  the 
Colonel,  as  the  wind  rose  and  the  sky  darkened. 
He  took  Shirley's  bridle  and  urged  the  horses  to 
the  utmost ;  but  as  the  tempest  roared  around 
them  and  rain  began  to  descend,  prepared  to 
lift  her  from  the  saddle  and  find  shelter  under  the 
thick  undergrowth, : —  anxiously  conscious,  how 
ever,  of  the  fact  that  there  could  be  no  escape 

240 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  241 

from  the  deadly  lightning.  The  next  flash 
revealed  a  log  house  just  before  them,  and  leav 
ing  the  horses  to  follow,  the  Colonel,  in  the 
blinding  rain,  took  Shirley  in  his  arms  and 
rushed  to  the  door,  which  opened  as  he  pushed 
against  it. 

"  Come  in,  come  in !  How  wet  you  are ! 
Why,  surely  this  is  Miss  Berkeley  and  Colonel 
Jones !" 

"And  you  are  Alice  Fontaine  !  How  delight 
ful  ! "  exclaimed  Shirley. 

"Alice  Winston  now,  you  know!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Colonel.  "How  fortu 
nate  we  are  to  find  you  and  Mr.  Winston.  He 
is  well,  I  hope." 

"Lewis  has  gone  down  to  Lynchburg  on  busi 
ness,  and  will  not  return  until  to-morrow." 

"And  you  here  alone?" 

"Not  quite  !  Here  is  little  Viny  and  Carlo," 
and  a  big  dog  rose  from  his  place  on  the  hearth 
and  came  forth,  wagging  welcome,  while  "little 
Viny,"  a  small  negro  girl,  drew  forward  the 
two  or  three  chairs  the  cabin  afforded.  Mean 
while,  the  Colonel  had  gone  out,  and  led  the 
horses  under  a  recently  vacated  shelter  —  a 
rude  substitute  for  a  stable  made  of  planks  laid 
over  posts.  They  had  stumbled  upon  the  home 


242  THE   COLONEL'S  STORY 

of  Lewis  Winston,  who  had  hidden  in  Mrs. 
Fontaine's  cedar  summer-house  last  June,  while 
he  waited  for  pretty  Alice  to  dress  in  her  maid's 
clothes  and  elope  with  him.  The  opposition  to 
the  marriage  on  the  part  of  her  parents  had  been 
because  of  his  utter  poverty ;  and  indignant  at 
the  selfishness  he  had  exhibited  by  tempting 
their  young  daughter  to  share  that  poverty,  her 
parents  had  sent  her  clothing  after  her,  but 
declined  to  receive  him.  Without  him  she  had 
refused  to  return.  He  had  proudly  withdrawn 
to  the  plantation  of  one  of  his  college  friends, 
and  in  the  forest  had  built  this  rude  cabin  for  his 
bride.  It  was  unplastered,  the  front  room  fur 
nished  only  with  a  small  "cupboard,"  a  table, 
and  a  few  chairs.  Kitchen  utensils  were  on  the 
broad  hearth.  "Little  Viny"  kindled  a  fire 
in  the  wide  chimney,  and  Shirley  and  the 
Colonel  were  soon  dry  and  comfortable. 

'Now,  Viny,  we  must  make  some  coffee,"  said 
the  pretty  hostess,  and  the  little  black  produced 
a  coffee-mill,  while  her  mistress  measured,  in  a 
tin  cup,  berries  which  she  took  from  a  canister 
on  the  rude  mantel-shelf.  "Lewis  says  I  can 
make  splendid  coffee  !  And  I  have  some  biscuits  ! 
Lewis  says  my  biscuits  are  better  than  Mother's. 
Can  you  manage  without  butter  ?  Viny's 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  243 

mother  lives  near,  and  if  it  wasn't  raining  so 
hard,  I  might  borrow  some  from  her." 

She  was  moving  about  while  she  spoke, 
extracting  from  the  cupboard  plates,  cups  and 
saucers,  and  a  tiny  sugar-bowl.  "Perhaps  you 
will  miss  the  cream  !  Lewis  says  coffee  is  better 
without  it  —  more  wholesome  and  digestible." 

Always  "Lewis!"  The  slight  girlish  figure 
was  gowned  in  the  simplest  house  dress  of  dark 
print,  but  she  was  lovely  !  Shirley's  eyes  rested 
upon  her  with  adoration.  On  a  shelf  were 
books  —  a  dozen  or  more.  Among  them  the 
Colonel  found  some  old  favourites,  and  he  took 
them  down,  one  by  one,  his  face  eloquent  with 
feeling.  "Ah,  my  masters  !"  he  thought,  "how 
you  bless  the  world,  from  the  palace  to  the 
cabin!" 

"I'm  glad  you  like  Lewis's  books,"  said  Mis 
tress  Alice;  "he  intends  to  have  a  library  some 
day." 

She  presided  over  her  tea-cups  with  true 
hospitality,  making  no  embarrassing  allusions 
to  the  many  deficiencies  of  her  menage.  All  the 
talk  was  bright  and  cheery  —  nor  was  the  cheer 
fulness  forced.  Mrs.  Winston  was  evidently 
not  only  contented  —  she  was  a  very  happy 
woman. 


244  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

The  storm  was  passing  away,  and  the  thunder 
growling  and  grumbling  in  the  distance,  but 
Shirley  was  reluctant  to  leave.  "I  might  beg 
for  you  all  night,  if  I  could  make  you  comfort 
able,"  Mrs.  Winston  said  regretfully.  "I  hate 
to  lose  you." 

"  You  cannot  lose  me  !  I  shall  come  again  — 
Cousin  James  and  I  and  little  Dorothea.  Mama 
will  come,  and  Aunt  Prissy  !  And  then  you  will 
have  a  great  many  visits  to  pay  at  Berkeley 
Castle." 

"Accept  this  little  book  as  a  souvenir  of  the 
nice  time  you  have  given  me.  Lewis  will  be  so 
sorry  he  missed  you,"  she  said  as  she  put  a  small 
morocco-bound  volume  of  poems  in  Shirley's 
hands. 

The  Colonel  and  Shirley  galloped  home  at 
an  extra  pace  —  Primrose  and  Bonnibell  had  had 
no  coffee  and  biscuits.  The  Colonel  was  deeply 
grieved  for  his  young  hostess.  "What  a  sad, 
sad  coming  down  for  that  exquisite  daughter  of 
Major  Fontaine's  !  How  could  Winston  have 
been  so  recklessly  selfish  ?" 

"She  seems  happy,"  Shirley  hastened  to 
remind  him. 

"  Ah !  Women  are  such  angels !  All  the 
more  he  should  have  waited.  Such  poverty  — 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  245 

such  small  hope  for  the  future  !  And  she  reared 
in  luxury  !  Think  of  her  sordid  toil,  her  lone 
liness  when  he  is  absent.  Think  of  next  winter 
in  that  isolated  cabin." 

"I  envy  her  more  than  any  one  in  the  world," 
Shirley  surprised  him  by  exclaiming. 

"Why,  she  lives  a  life  of  the  sternest  priva 
tion  !" 

"Ah,  but  remember !  She  is  helping  him  to 
bear  his  lot.  She  is  able  to  make  his  life  —  his 
life  of  poverty  —  beautiful !  What  would  it  be 
without  her  ?  Could  she  have  borne  to  be  fortu 
nate  and  happy,  and  he  poor  and  miserable  ?" 
—  and  the  Colonel  worshipped  her  more  de 
voutly  than  ever. 

She  was  a  spirited  figure,  erect  upon  her 
beautiful  mare,  and  she  turned  an  animated 
face  to  him  as  she  spoke.  The  Colonel,  how 
ever,  was  deeply  concerned  for  the  slight 
young  woman  in  the  cabin. 

"I  trust  Winston  has  gone  to  Lynchburg  to 
seek  employment  there.  He  has  no  profession. 
Surely  he  must  realize  what  all  this  means  for 
her  !  The  Major  must  send  for  his  daughter 
and  take  care  of  her  until  her  husband  can  keep 
her  decently." 

"She  would  never  go !     Oh,  you  don't  under- 


246  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

stand,  Cousin  James  !  All  women  are  not 
merely  dolls  to  be  dressed  and  admired,  or 
pretty  children  to  be  amused  !  It  is  nice  to 
have  lovely  things,  —  I  know  that  well,  —  but 
the  grandest  thing  in  all  the  world  must  be  to 
make  somebody  you  love,"  -  she  faltered,  and 
the  enraptured  Colonel  marked  the  flushed 
cheek,  —  "somebody  that  loves  you,  supremely 
happy." 

But  there  could  be  no  further  conversation 
on  these  lofty  topics.  The  horses  were  urged 
to  their  utmost  speed,  for  the  branches  of  the 
trees  had  showered  Shirley  so  plentifully  that  her 
linen  habit  was  thoroughly  wetted.  When  they 
reached  their  entrance  gate,  the  Colonel  laid 
a  restraining  hand  on  BonnibelPs  bridle,  —  the 
earth  was  too  soft  and  slippery  for  a  leap.  As 
they  passed  through,  he  called  Shirley's  atten 
tion  to  fresh  wheel-tracks  on  the  avenue.  "We 
shall  probably  find  the  house  full,"  he  said,  "and 
you  are  wet  through  and  through.  You  must 
run  right  in  to  your  own  room." 

The  Doctor  met  them  with  a  similar  order. 
"We  have  Mrs.  Dancey  and  all  her  children,  — 
blown  in  by  the  storm.  Don't  think  of  seeing 
them,  Shirley !  Get  right  out  of  your  wet 
clothes  and  into  your  bed.  I'll  send  you  a 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  247 

powder  to  take,  and  you  are  not  to  appear  to 
night.  I'll  send  Milly  to  you." 

Shirley,  chill  and  shivering,  was  not  loth  to 
obey.  Dried  and  warmed  by  the  vigorous  rub 
bing  of  her  old  nurse,  she  lay  in  delicious  com 
fort  and  reviewed  the  events,  vivified  by  her 
imagination,  of  the  afternoon.  Her  dreams 
were  finally  interrupted  by  the  cheery  voice  of 
Miss  Prissy,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  the  lady 
herself. 

"Ah,  Shirley !  In  bed  ?  Are  you  sick  or 
only  shamming?" 

"Neither  !  I  am  naughty  !  I  went  out  in  the 
rain  and  wet  my  frock.  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
to  have  no  supper  ?" 

"By  and  by,  perhaps.  —  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  special  prisoner's  fare  is  being  prepared  for 
you." 

She  leaned  on  the  foot-rail  of  the  bed  and  ad 
mired  her  niece  as  she  lay,  with  bright  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks,  among  her  ruffled  pillows,  the 
pure  oval  of  her  face  framed  by  the  soft  frill  of 
a  cap  under  the  full  crown  of  which  she  had 
gathered  her  brown  hair.  Little  curlets  peeped 
out  here  and  there,  caressing  her  long,  white 
throat.  American  women  all  wore  nightcaps 
until  Eugene  Sue  described  the  beauty  of  tress 


248  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

and  ringlet  of  one  of  his  heroines  —  was  it  not 
Adrienne  in  the  "  Mysteries  of  Paris  "  ?  —  due,  he 
declared,  to  the  fact  that  she  had  never  prisoned 
them  under  a  cap.  Off  came  the  nightcaps  of 
the  Western-world  women.  Their  pretty  affairs 
of  lace  and  muslin  were  cut  up  to  cover  pincush 
ions  or  dress  the  dolls  of  their  little  sisters.  I 
know  of  one  only  that  survives,  as  a  curious  relic 
of  the  dark  ages. 

Shirley,  on  her  part,  was  struck  by  the  un 
usual  smartness  of  her  Aunt's  attire.  "Why, 
you  have  on  your  green  silk  and  black  lace  ! 
You  have  no  idea  how  nice  you  look  ! " 

"I  have,  my  dear  !  I  saw  myself  in  the  pier- 
glass  —  full  length.  You  see  I  had  an  ignoble 
desire  to  impress  Mrs.  Dancey.  She  is  here, 
you  know,  with  all  her  five  children.  She  goes 
to-morrow  to  spend  the  day  with  Betty  Oliver 
and  have  herself  fitted.  She  could  very  well 
have  gone  on  this  evening,  but  she  means  that 
you  and  Mary  shall  tell  her  the  fashions." 

"  I  ought  to  get  up  and  help  Mama." 

"You  daren't !  Your  father  would  send  you 
back  to  bed  again.  Young  Tom  is  of  the  party. 
Dorothea  has  risen  to  the  occasion.  She  has 
brought  out  her  Noah's  Ark,  her  jackstraws, 
and  dominoes  for  the  four  children,  and  chal- 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  249 

lenged  the  young  man  to  a  game  of  draughts. 
It  is  funny  to  see  how  she  avoids  looking  at  him. 
His  freckled  face  and  red  hair  seem  comical  to 
her,  and  she  is  afraid  she  will  laugh." 

"Poor  little  darling  !  I  wish  I  could  help  with 
Mr.  Tom." 

"Oh,  he  will  get  through  the  evening.  I  shall 
keep  the  talk  away  from  the  neighbourhood 
gossip  —  Mrs.  Dancey  will  have  that,  plenty, 
at  Betty's.  I'm  delighted  you  are  not  to  the 
fore.  Why  should  you  let  yourself  down  for 
her  amusement  ?" 

"As  well  as  for  you  and  Mama  !" 

"Not  at  all.  We  can  take  care  of  ourselves. 
I  dressed  expressly  to  impress  Mrs.  Dancey 
and  keep  her  off  Mary.  Besides,"  added  the 
old  lady,  whimsically,  "I'm  not  above  wishing 
to  make  a  creditable  showing  for  my  own  sake.  I 
know  I  am  to  be  discussed  in  the  neighbourhood 
round  of  visits  she  is  making,  so  I  brought  out 
my  lace  and  Levantine  silk,  and  my  cameo  pin 
and  bracelet.  I  can  hear  her:  'Mrs.  Berke 
ley  is  wonderfully  well-preserved,  but  poor  Miss 
Prissy!'  By  the  bye,  why  do  we  never  hear 
it  said  of  an  old  maid  that  she  is  *  preserved*  ? 
Probably  *  pickled'  would  suit  us  better." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Prissy  !     How  delightful  you  are," 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 

Shirley  laughed ;  and  her  Aunt,  having  gained 
a  certain  point  she  had  in  mind,  hastened  to 
follow  it  up.  "James  tells  me  you  had  an  ad 
venture  this  afternoon  —  explored  a  labyrinth 
and  found  fair  Rosamond." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Shirley,  eagerly.  "Wasn't 
it  romantic  ?  The  storm,  the  hut  in  the  woods, 
and  finding  the  lovely  lady.  Her  story  all 
through  is  so  charming  —  reminds  one  of  days 
of  old,  and  knights  and  chivalry  —  doesn't 
it  ?" 

"Hardly,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  drily.  "I  have 
a  great  love  for  the  old  knights  of  romance  — 
beautiful,  gallant  fellows,  pricking  forth  on  their 
caparisoned  palfreys ;  winning  everything  in 
war,  in  tournament,  in  courts  of  king  and  courts 
of  love.  I  like  all  their  ways  — " 

"They  ran  away  with  fair  ladies  some 
times,"  Shirley  reminded  her;  "picked  them  up 
at  the  masque  or  wherever  they  found  them." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  her  Aunt  assented  warmly. 
"At  the  masque  when  the  dance  was  at  its  mazi 
est,  and  the  mirth  at  its  maddest,  a  whisper 
in  her  ear,  a  slip  out  of  a  low  window,  a  foot 
on  the  stirrup,  and  up  he  swings  her  to  his 
pillion,  and  crosses  the  border  before  she  is 
missed." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  251 

Shirley  nodded  radiantly,  half  rising  from  her 
pillow,  but  subsided  again  as  her  Aunt  con 
tinued  :  — 

"That  sounds  fine  to  me !  But  fancy  Sir 
Galahad  hiding  in  the  bushes  and  bribing  the 
house-dog  with  a  sausage,  while  fair  Imogene  or 
Ermentrude  dons  linsey-woolsey  and  slinks 
through  the  house  with  a  pail  on  her  head ! 
That's  more  like  Darby  and  Joan  than  knight 
and  ladye." 

"Ah,  don't  spoil  it !"  sighed  Shirley. 

"Well,  I  won't,  my  dear !  Here  comes  Milly 
with  your  supper.  And  a  fine  rose  on  the  waiter. 
That  looks  like  the  Colonel's  doing!" 

"Marse  Jeems  was  waitin'  for  me  at  the  dinin'- 
room  do'.  He  was  cuttin'  the  thorns  off  this 
little  rose  with  his  penknife.  He  says  he's 
feared  this  is  the  las'  rose  befo'  fros'." 

"Well,  good-night,  Shirley !  Take  care  of 
her,  Milly.  I'm  off  to  the  post  of  duty." 

"I  has  my  orders,"  said  Milly,  with  dignity. 
"She's  to  take  a  powder  one  hour  after  she  eat 
her  supper.  I  got  to  keep  her  awake  ontwel 
she  take  it." 

"A  red,  red  rose  —  and  the  last,"  whispered 
Shirley,  as  she  put  it  to  her  lips. 

"You   better  eat  yo'  waffles   befo'  they  git 


252  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

cole,"  said  Milly.  "I  ain't  bring  you  nothin' 
but  a  partridge  and  some  milk." 

"I'm  terribly  hungry,"  said  Shirley. 

"  I  can't  help  it !  You  won't  git  no  mo'  to 
night.  I  let  you  drink  all  the  water  you  want. 
What  bothers  me  is  I'm  feared  you'll  go  to  sleep 
befo'  I  can  give  you  the  powder." 

"I  willy  unless  you  are  agreeable.  Tell  me 
a  good  story.  Don't  stop  talking  a  minute." 

"Does  you  mind  the  light  ?  I  can  blow  out 
the  candle,  well  as  not.  I  kin  knit  Simple 
Sam's  sock  jus'  as  well  in  the  dark.  He  baig 
Miss  Mary  to  have  his  socks  knit  this  winter 
'thout  no  heel  —  because  he  say  his  socks  always 
w'ar  out  in  the  heel !  You  needn't  laugh  !  He 
did,  —  an'  what's  mo',  yo'  Ma  says  I  must  knit 
'em  straight  to  humour  him.  The  creeter  ain' 
got  much  sense,  but  he  know  what  he  wants  — 
that's  what  your  Ma  says." 

Shirley  had  no  objection  to  the  light,  and, 
having  finished  her  meal,  and  coveting  nothing 
so  much  as  an  uninterrupted  hour  for  her  own 
fancies,  urged  Milly  to  begin  her  story.  "What 
about  Mrs.  Dancey  ?"  she  asked,  by  way  of  an 
entering  wedge. 

"Brer  Silas  say  they  been  'tending  a  big,  dis 
tracted  meetin'  at  Simpson's  Grove,  close  by 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  253 

Mrs.  Dancey's  husband's  sister-in-law  —  she 
that  was  Patsy  Perkins.  Is  you  listening  Miss 
Shirley?" 

"Certainly,  —  'attending  a  protracted  meet 
ing,'  —  that  is  very  interesting.  Never  mind 
about  Patsy  Perkins." 

"Brer  Silas  say  'twas  the  po'est  meetin'  he 
ever  'tended.  The  preachin'  was  fyarly  good, 
but  they  couldn't  git  nobody  under  conviction 
of  sin.  No  mo'ners  on  the  mo'ners'  bench. 
Brer  Silas,  he  hope  the  good  seed  has  fell  in  the 
groun'  an'  will  spring  up  some  time  and  bar 
fruit.  Brer  Silas  is  a  mighty  nice  man, 
even  if  he  is  kerridge-driver  to  half-strainers." 

"Under  conviction  ?"  asked  Shirley.  "What 
do  you  mean  by  'under  conviction'  ?" 

"Sholy,  chile,  you  can't  git  religion  onless 
you  has  conviction.  You  got  to  suffer  and  sor 
row  and  give  up  befo'  you  can  git  converted." 

"No,  no,  Mammy  !  God  loves  us  as  soon  as 
we  are  born,  and  nothing  can  separate  us  from 
His  love.  He  commands  us  to  believe  that." 

"That  may  do  fer  you  and  your  Ma,  chile, 
but  it  won't  do  fer  cullud  folks.  I  know  thar's 
mor'n  one  path  to  heaven.  We  can't  all  walk 
together.  Thar's  prayin',  now !  Cullud  folks 
speaks  right  from  der  hearts  to  Gawd  A'Mighty, 


254  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

but  yo'-all  got  time  to  look  in  the  book  for  the 
right  words  to  say.  I  ain'  sayin'  nothin'  erginst 
the  book,  —  it's  all  good,  —  but  I  got  religion 
mighty  different  from  yo'-all  ways." 

"Tell  me  about  it  —  begin  at  the  beginning." 
"Twas  fo'  you  was  born.  I  was  a  likely 
young  gal  about  house,  an*  could  dance  mighty 
nigh  twel  daybreak  an'  wuk  jus'  as  good  next 
day.  We  hadn't  had  a  distracted  meetin'  or 
camp-meetin'  for  ever  so  Jong,  twel  at  las' one 
come  to  Poplar  Spring,  not  fur  from  here  an' 
near  the  ole  meetin'-house.  They  built  arbours 
full  of  benches  close  to  the  house,  and  riz  a  tent 
fo'  tables.  We  went  over  every  mornin'  with  a 
sight  of  cooked  vittles  —  chickens  briled  and 
fried,  roast  pig,  watermelons,  bread  and  cakes, 
an'  carried  a  little  charcoal  furnace  to  make 
coffee.  Pow'ful  preachin'  mornin'  and  after 
dinner !  I  never  hear  such  befo'  nor  sence.  It 
was  all  about  the  devil  goin'  about  like  a  roarin' 
lion  seekin'  whom  he  may  devour,  an'  how  we 
was  born  the  chillern  of  wrath  and  sin,  and  Gawd 
A'Mighty  was  angry  with  us  every  day  —  an* 
we  was  nothin'  but  worms  of  the  dus',  and  even 
our  righteousness  was  filthy  rags ;  an'  how  we 
was  walkin'  on  a  narrer  naick  of  Ian',  and  any 
minnit  we  was  li'ble  to  fall  in  the  pit  that  burns 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  255 

with  fire  and  brimstone,  where  the  smoke  of  the 
torment  ascends  forever  and  ever,  an'  whar  thar's 
wailin'  an*  weepin'  an'  gnashin'  of  teeth  —  an' 
how  Gawd  A'Mighty  was  a  consumin  fire. 
'Feared  like  the  folks,  white  an'  black,  got  half 
crazy  with  fear.  The  preachers  called  the 
mo'ners  up,  and  they  sat  on  the  bench  under 
the  pulpit  and  rocked  an'  cried,  an'  couldn't 
be  comforted.  They  was  under  conviction  good 
an'  hard,  an'  some  got  religion  an'  shouted 
'glory!' 

"Mandy  Jane  an'  me,  we  sat  by  the  do'  an' 
looked  on,  but  nuwer  got  under  no  conviction. 
One  day  a  terrible  stawm  came  up  all  of  a  sudden. 
The  lightnin'  an'  thunder  an'  wind  was  awful. 
We  all  run  for  the  meetin'-house  an'  warn't  no 
sooner  in  fo'  the  rain  came  down  like  a  deluge. 
It  was  dark  inside,  and  we  could  hear  the  trees 
crashin'  and  thunder  roarin'.  The  preachers 
got  up  and  zorted  us  to  'flee  from  the  wrath  to 
come,'  an'  Mandy  Jane  jump  up  all  on  a  sudden 
an'  run  to  the  mo'ners'  bench.  I  was  feared 
they'd  ketch  me,  an'  I  say  to  myself,  I  can  git  in 
the  kerridge  out  under  the  shelter  an'  hide  twel 
it's  all  over.  But  when  I  got  to  the  do',  thar  stood 
ole  man  Jacob  Henry,  an'  he  twis'  me  roun'  an' 
giv'  me  a  push,  an'  fust  thing  I  know  I  was 


256  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

ninnin'  to  the  mo'ners'  bench  an'  flop  down  an' 
rock  an'  groan  like  the  res'. 

"After  a  while  the  stawm  passed  an'  the  sun 
come  out,  an'  all  the  po'  little  birds  begin  to 
chirp  outside.  'Twas  the  las'  day  of  the  'stracted 
meetin',  an'  the  beautifullest  preacher  my  eyes 
ever  res'  upon  riz  up  to  preach  the  las'  sermon. 
He  had  a  look  in  his  face  somethin'  like  Marse 
Jeems  when  he's  readin'  to  you,  Miss  Shirley, 
but  it  was  heavenlier.  His  forehead  was  white 
an'  high,  an'  his  eyes  deep  an'  dark,  an'  a  sad 
sort  o'  smile  on  his  mouth.  He  certainly  was 
a  lovely  gentleman  !  Well,  he  never  speak  one 
word  about  sin  or  the  devil  or  hell.  He  tole  us 
how  Gawd  had  loved  us  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world  and  wanted  us  every  one  to  enjoy  good 
and  beautiful  things  —  how  goodness  an'  mercy 
had  followed  us  all  the  days  of  our  life  and  would 
always  follow  us  if  we  obeyed  and  loved  Him 
an'  loved  one  another  —  an'  if  we  sometimes 
slipped  an'  fell  an'  sinned,  He  know  we  were 
nothin'  but  dus',  and  He  was  ready  to  forgive 
us  an'  take  us  under  His  wings  like  a  hen  gathers 
her  chickens,  an'  keep  us  from  doing  wrong 
any  mo',  —  an'  then  he  clasped  his  han's  befo' 
him  an'  looked  up  like  he  could  see  heaven 
through  the  shingles ;  an'  he  tole  about  the 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  257 

streets  of  gole,  an'  gates  of  pearl,  an'  sea  of  jasper, 
an'  fruits  for  the  healin'  of  the  nations,  an'  Gawd 
would  wipe  all  tears  from  our  eyes  an'  bless  us 
forever  an'  ever;  an'  he  went  up  an'  up,  an'  he 
soared  higher  an'  higher,  twel  he  fyarly  briled 
in  glory !  An'  then  he  spread  his  han's  out  an' 
prayed  for  us  all,  an'  dismiss  us  with  the  blessin'. 

"Well,  I  felt  like  I  never  want  to  come  to 
yearth  an'  do  another  lick  of  work  long  as  I  live, 
an'  I  set  thar  after  the  people  all  went  out,  — 
an'  ole  Miss  come  along  an'  say,  ' What's  the 
matter,  Milly  ?'  I  bust  out  cryin'  an'  I  say,  'I 
don't  want  to  live  no  longer  in  this  filthy  ole 
worlV  Ole  Miss  look  at  me  kind,  an'  say,  'I've 
felt  that  way  very  often,  my  girl,  but  I've  found 
whenever  we  are  disgusted  with  a  dirty  world, 
the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  clean  up  a  little 
piece  of  it.  Run  along  now  and  help  straighten 
up  our  things  an'  leave  our  part  of  the  place  here 
in  order.' 

"  I  didn't  sleep  a  wink  that  night,  —  I  had  eat  a 
ungawdly  sight  of  watermelon,  —  and  by  day  I 
was  up  an'  walkin'  about  out  doors.  I  remem 
bered  I  had  sot  my  Dominicker  hen  an'  'twas 
'bout  time  she  was  hatchin',  an'  sho'  enough  here 
she  come  off  her  nes'  with  twelve  of  the  peartest 
little  chickens  you  ever  see.  I  picked  'em  up  in 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

my  apron  an'  car'd  'em  to  the  kitchen  an'  foun' 
some,  bread  an'  fed  'em.  Thar  I  set  lookin' 
at  'em  eat,  an'  after  a  while  the  ole  hen  spread 
out  her  wings  an'  call,  an'  they  all  gathered  un 
der  her.  All  at  once  I  remembered  the  preacher 
an'  how  our  Father  in  Heaven  wanted  to  gather 
us  an'  I  jump  up  an'  holler  *  Glory  ! '  Ole  Aunt 
Venus  —  she  was  the  cook  then  —  come  in.  She 
was  a  mighty  vicious  ole  ooman,  an'  she  flung 
my  hen  out  the  kitchen,  an'  took  me  by  my 
shoulders  an'  shook  me,  an'  say  didn't  I  have 
no  mo'  sense  than  git  religion  right  thar  whar 
she  had  to  git  breakfus  ?  But  I  was  baptized 
the  nex'  Sunday  an'  jined  the  chu'ch,  an'  I  ain't 
never  unjined.  I  ain't  backslided  as  I  knows 
of.  Mandy  Jane  an'  ever  so  many  of  them 
shouters  has  backslidden  an'  gone  back  to  the 
fleshpots  of  Egypt,  but  I  hilt  on.  I  don't  hold 
with  all  the  shoutin'  an'  carryin'  on  of  folks  these 
days.  It's  easy  enough  to  perfess.  Perfessin' 
ain't  always  possessing  an'  I  got  no  faith  in  so 
much  talk  any  way.  Folks  is  too  free  an'  inti 
mate  with  Gawd  A'Mighty  to  suit  me." 

Milly  had  dropped  her  knitting  and  sat  rocking 
herself  gently  to  and  fro.  Presently  she  came 
with  a  sigh  back  to  the  duty  of  the  hour  and  rose 
to  see  how  her  young  mistress  had  been  im- 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  259 

pressed  by  her  recital.  Shirley  was  lying  still, 
her  long  lashes  on  her  cheek,  her  cheek  resting 
upon  her  hand,  and  loosed  from  the  other  hand 
and  near  her  lips  was  the  red,  red  rose. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  she  been  asleep  !  Here  I 
been  talkin',"  Milly  said  with  a  hint  of  re 
proach  in  her  voice.  "Now  I  got  to  look  for 
Marse  Chawles  an'  fine  out  whether  I  mus'  wake 
her  for  her  powder.  If  she'd  tole  me  she  was  go- 
in'  to  sleep,  I  could  have  given  it  to  her.  'Tain't 
good  for  her  to  smell  that  rose  all  night."  She 
gently  withdrew  it,  and,  gathering  up  her  wools 
and  Simple  Sam's  socks,  put  it  in  a  glass  of  water, 
blew  out  the  candles,  and  departed,  closing  the 
door  softly  behind  her.  The  Doctor  was  not 
found,  however,  nor  the  patient  wakened. 

The  next  morning  soon  after  the  family  and 
guests  were  seated  at  breakfast,  young  Tom 
Dancey  sprang  out  of  his  chair  like  a  Jack-in-the- 
box.  Shirley  was  coming  in.  Walking  around 
the  long  table  to  find  her  seat  beside  the  Colonel, 
she  shook  hands  cordially  with  all  the  Danceys, 
great  and  small,  left  a  butterfly  kiss  upon  her 
mother's  head,  and  nodded  gayly  to  her  father  as 
she  passed  to  her  chair.  Young  Tom  would  have 
given  everything  in  his  pockets  if  he  could  have 
changed  places  with  the  eldest  Dancey  girl  — 


260  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

who,  eyes  glued  on  Shirley,  was  seated  opposite 
the  Colonel.  Shirley  was  radiant,  smiling  on 
everyone,  beautiful  in  a  white  muslin  gown  with 
the  red  rose  on  her  bosom.  Tenderness  and 
happiness  filled  the  Colonel's  heart  as  he  marked 
the  rose  —  his  gift  —  preserved  from  fading,  and 
worn  on  her  beautiful  bosom. 

"Who  told  you  you  might  get  up  ?"  asked  her 
father. 

"The  pangs  of  hunger  !     I  was  starving." 

"You  do  my  practice  credit !  Those  are 
wonderful  powders  !  Fine  to  check  a  coming 
cold." 

Mrs.  Dancey,  who  lived  across  the  river,  was 
only  an  occasional  visitor  to  Berkeley  Castle. 
She  was  noted  as  a  news-gatherer,  not  with  the 
least  injurious  object,  but  mainly  because  of  the 
joy  of  dispensing  it  again,  —  an  amiable  but  mis 
chievous  trait.  Like  Rosa  Dartle  she  only 
"wanted  to  know"  —  but  unlike  Miss  Dartle 
she  had  no  sinister  designs.  Mrs.  Berkeley 
and  Miss  Prissy  had  skilfully  avoided  personal 
subjects,  and  kept  the  conversation  upon  domes 
tic  matters  —  how  best  to  green  the  wonderful 
sweetmeats  of  melon  rinds,  to  make  them  re 
semble  carved  emeralds,  or  gain  the  golden  tint 
demanded  by  yellow  pickle,  —  chiefly  how  the 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  261 

gowns  were  fashioned  that  Mrs.  Berkeley  had 
seen  at  the  Springs,  and  where  in  the  Richmond 
shops  might  be  found  the  most  elastic  make  of 
hoop-skirts.  The  evening  had  passed  quickly  in 
this  harmless  talk,  but  now  Mrs.  Dancey  was 
about  to  leave,  and  half  her  errand  in  coming  was 
still  unfulfilled.  Her  time  was  short.  Like  a 
bolt  out  of  a  clear  sky  came  the  question  :  — 

"What  do  you  make,  Doctor,  of  young  New 
ton's  strange  behaviour  ?" 

"About  his  going  to  California  ?  Nothing 
seems  more  natural !  I  think  Mr.  Dancey 
would  agree  with  me  that  it  requires  a  pretty 
strong  anchor  to  keep  any  of  us  at  home." 

"Oh,  that's  all  understood,  but  there  are  some 
strange  reports  about  young  Newton.  People 
say  —  " 

"I  am  sure,"  said  the  Doctor,  hastily,  "that 
no  one  can,  with  truth,  say  anything  to  his  dis 
paragement.  I  have  great  respect  for  that  young 
man.  He  can  be  trusted  to  manage  his  own 
affairs." 

"Oh,  but  there's  a  dark  mystery  about  his 
sale  of  Beechwood.  Everybody  knows  that. 
I  saw  Jake  Peterson  at  the  meetings,  and  he  says 
most  people  believe  he  will  never  come  back. 
They  say  Benson  found  out  something  perfectly 


262  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

dreadful  about  him,  and  young  Newton  has  given 
him  Beechwood  to  hush  up  some  disgraceful 
secret  or  other." 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  Mr.  Jake  Peter 
son,"  said  the  Doctor,  coldly,  "but  if  he  declares 
that  he  knows  that  to  be  true  —  he  lies  !  What 
is  more  —  everybody  who  believes  him  is  willing 
to  believe  a  lie."  And  the  Doctor  pushed  back 
his  chair  with  emphasis  and  rose  from  the  table. 

"I  must  excuse  myself,  and  bid  you  good- 
morning,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  do  not  presume 
to  advise  you,  Madam,  nor  do  I  feel  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Dancey  to  take  the  liberty 
of  advising  his  wife,  but  I  think  he  will  tell  you 
that  there  is  a  point  beyond  which  calumny 
behind  a  man's  back  had  best  not  venture.  Mr. 
Peterson  and  those  who  listen  to  him  might  get 
into  trouble.  I  bid  you  good-morning."  The 
Doctor  bowed  himself  out,  and  Shirley,  pale  and 
trembling,  would  have  gladly  followed  him.  All 
the  sunshine  of  her  day  had  gone  out  in  darkness. 

Poor  Mrs.  Dancey's  face  reddened,  but  the 
Colonel  immediately  essayed  to  relieve  the  situa 
tion  by  remarking  that  it  was  simply  wonderful 
what  fancies  would  possess  some  people  and  lead 
to  reports  without  foundation.  He  perceived 
at  once  that  he  made  a  mistake. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  263 

"There's  no  fancy  about  it,"  Mrs.  Dancey 
maintained.  "  Here  the  young  man  suddenly 
sells  a  splendid  estate  for  almost  nothing  or 
gives  it  away,  some  say,  in  fee  simple.  Why 
does  he  do  it  ?  I  want  to  know !  Oh,  you 
needn't  look  as  if  I  ought  not  to  mention  it 
before  the  children.  Every  man,  woman,  and 
child  at  the  meeting  heard  it,  and  most  of  'em 
believed  it." 

"Do  you  believe  it  ?"  said  Dorothea,  earnestly. 

"No-o,  —  I  can't  say  I  do." 

"Because  if  you  do,  I  must  — " 

"Hush,  Dorothea,"  said  her  Mother.  "It  is 
all  right.  Everybody  in  this  house,  everybody 
in  the  country  whose  opinion  is  worth  anything, 
loves  and  honours  Douglas  Newton." 

"Amen,"  said  the  Colonel,  and  the  excellent 
breakfast  soon  smoothed  the  lady's  ruffled 
feathers. 

The  family  sped  the  parting  guest  with  as 
much  courtesy  as  was  possible.  She  hastened 
to  unburden  her  indignant  spirit  to  Miss  Betty 
Oliver,  with  the  result  that  as  soon  as  Miss  Betty 
learned  of  the  Doctor's  rebuke,  she  warmly 
sustained  him,  at  the  risk  of  losing  a  customer. 

"  Now,  what  are  we  to  do  with  Charles  ? "  Mrs. 
Berkeley  inquired  of  the  Colonel.  "I  never 


264  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

knew  him  before  to  run  away  from  danger  and 
leave  us  to  our  fate." 

"He  couldn't  trust  himself!  I  saw  murder 
in  his  eye  —  and  he  couldn't  fight  a  woman," 

"What  do  you  suppose  Dorothea  was  going  to 
say?" 

"  I  happen  to  know  !  She  was  going  to  decline 
further  acquaintance  with  the  lady  !  Going  to 
'walk  majestically  out  of  the  room!'  Don't 
be  worried,  Mary.  Douglas  will  certainly  return. 
Benson  is  extremely  unpopular,  and  under  no 
circumstances  will  it  be  possible  for  him  or  any 
body  else  to  shake  the  confidence  our  best  men 
have  in  Douglas  Newton." 

Shirley  had  silently  listened  to  it  all, — and  she 
suffered  acutely.  She  began  to  wonder  how  much 
longer  she  could  endure.  The  prompt,  warm 
championship  of  her  father  and  her  friend  was  as 
music  to  her  ears,  but  that  the  tongue  of  slander 
was  busy  with  the  reputation  of  the  man  to  whom 
—  God  help  her  —  she  had  given  her  heart  was 
keen  anguish. 

The  struggle  to  maintain  her  light-hearted 
manner  failed  at  last,  and  she  gradually  became 
more  and  more  silent.  She  joined  the  group  of 
knitters  around  the  evening  lamp.  Does  M'me 
La  Paix  or  her  confreres  now  keep  the  once 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  265 

popular  Bal  Orne,  —  a  great  ball  of  wool  of  many 
colours  irregularly  spaced,  —  with  directions  for 
the  knitting  ?  Shirley  had  acquired  one  of  these 
balls  in  New  York,  and  now  drew  it  forth. 

"Is  this  a  mystery  or  a  harlequin  arrange 
ment  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Harlequin  ?  Not  at  all !  I  have  the  rules 
here.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  follow  them,  and  as  I 
knit,  buds  and  leaves  and  flowers  will  grow  under 
my  needles.  Mystery  !  Yes  —  as  life  is  a  mys 
tery.  The  scheme  and  colours  are  all  arranged  for 
us,  and  we  have  only  to  work  by  certain  rules — 
work  blindly  —  and  hope  for  the  flowers." 

"They  will  surely  come,  dear  Shirley  !  Noth 
ing  but  flowers  will  ever  bloom  in  your  life." 

Shirley  shook  her  head.  "There  are  knitters 
at  work  on  my  life ;  wiser,  I  hope,  than  I.  They 
hold  the  needles  ;  I  can  only  —  wait." 

In  due  time  the  invitation  to  the  White  House 
which  the  President  had  promised  Shirley  was 
received.  To  her  Father's  surprise  and  disap 
pointment,  she  declined  it  —  very  courteously, 
very  warmly  and  appreciatively,  but  very  firmly. 
Nothing  could  shake  her. 

"Tell  me,  Shirley,"  said  the  Colonel,  "tell 
me  confidentially,  why  do  you  object  to  this 
visit  ?  Washington  is  delightful  at  Christmas 


266  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

and  New  Year's,  and  the  White  House  gayeties 
charming  and  distingue." 

"I  don't  object  in  the  least,"  said  Shirley; 
"I  know  it  is  grand  !  I  only  like  something  else 
better.  I  suppose  I  must  be  selfish  !  It  is  just 
this  :  the  White  House  is  all  very  well  and  the 
old  President  is  a  dear,  —  there's  an  'understand 
ing'  between  us,  —  but  to  tell  the  truth,  I  prefer 
Berkeley  Castle  and  my  Cousin  James." 

Alas  !  The  poor  Colonel  now  knew  himself 
to  be  deeply  in  love  with  the  fair  flatterer  —  and 
every  proof  of  her  preference  fed  the  flame  and 
stimulated  his  hopes.  Indeed  he  felt  assured. 
Her  preference  of  his  society  above  all  others 
more  and  more  encouraged  him.  She,  poor 
child,  sought  him  only  as  a  refuge.  She  could 
seem  to  listen  many  a  time  when  her  thoughts 
were  far  away.  He  was  the  greatest  comfort  of 
her  life,  her  best  and  dearest  friend.  They 
were  both  dreamers.  The  Colonel's  dreams  were 
of  her  and  her  only.  Shirley  also  dreamed,  but 
not  of  him.  To  her  the  Colonel  meant  at  no 
distant  day  to  confide  his  dream.  She  already 
confided  hers  —  to  Bonnibell ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SUPREMELY  happy,  the  Colonel  began  to  plan 
the  rehabilitation  of  his  home.  Although  the 
owner  of  a  handsome  estate,  he  had  very  little 
ready  money.  Every  Virginia  planter  will  under 
stand  how  that  could  be.  The  wonderful  success 
of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  in  the  realm  of  fiction 
had  impressed  him,  and  he  resolved  to  finish  a 
romance  he  had  commenced  during  the  summer, 
written  pour  passer  le  temps,  but  now  to  be  re 
viewed  in  the  hope  of  material  result.  He 
wished  to  keep  secret,  for  the  present,  this  new 
venture.  Its  success  was  to  be  among  the 
delightful  surprises  of  that  future  day  —  trem 
bling  now,  a  great  rising  star,  upon  the  horizon 
of  his  dreams. 

One  day  he  surprised  Mrs.  Berkeley  by  saying 
that  the  time  had  come  when  he  would,  really, 
be  compelled  to  go  back  to  his  own  plantation. 
There  was  an  air  of  unusual  decision  in  the  no 
longer  familiar  announcement  —  an  unwonted 
emphasis.  "Why,  James  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Berkeley,  in  amazement.  "What  is  the  matter  ? 

267 


268  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

What  has  happened  ?  You  cannot  live  alone  in 
your  house.  Think  of  the  chill  of  a  house  that 
has  been  closed  for  years.  The  swallows  have 
built  in  the  chimneys.  You  could  never  live 
there  alone.  Surely  there  can  be  no  necessity 
for  you  to  leave  us." 

"I  know  —  I  know,"  said  the  Colonel,  much 
distressed,  "but  you  see,  Mary,  I  have  important 
papers  to  attend  to  in  connection  with  my  private 
affairs.  I  have  deferred  matters,  and  my  time  is 
short.  I  must  devote  many  hours,  all  my  hours 
in  fact,  to  uninterrupted  work  at  my  desk.  I 
have  some  serious  thinking  to  do,  and  must  con 
centrate  my  attention.  Indeed  I  —  I  can  have 
no  one  about  me  in  the  morning  hours  except 
perhaps  little  Pizarro.  I  will  be  poor  company 
for  you  !  I  really  must  be  much  alone.  Your 
women  might  interrupt  me  —  disarrange  my 
papers,  and  — 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Berkeley,  in  a 
relieved  tone.  "My  women,  indeed  !  That  re 
solves  itself  easily,  I  imagine,  into  one  very  little 
woman.  We  will  soon  settle  with  her.  Where's 
Dorothea  ?  Come  here,  Dolly.  You  are  not  to 
study  or  play  in  the  office  again  for  a  while. 
Your  Cousin  James  is  going  to  be  busy,  very, 
very  busy." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  269 

The  child  was  astounded  !  "Not  ever  ?"  she 
asked. 

"Not  soon,"  repeated  her  mother,  gently,  but 
raising  a  deprecating  hand  to  check  the  Colonel's 
protest. 

"How  near  ?"  entreated  the  child,  the  Colonel 
rising  to  take  refuge  in  flight. 

"Not  nearer  than  the  grape  arbour."  And 
then  turning  to  the  Colonel,  she  reassured  him : 
"Dolly  will  obey ;  you  can  trust  her.  And  as  to 
Minerva  and  Dilsey,  I  dare  say  you  are  quite 
right.  Don't  you  remember,  James,"  she  con 
tinued  cheerfully,  "  that  funny  little  man  — 
that  naturalist  —  who  was  here  last  fall  hunting 
katydids  ?  He  came  from  the  Boston  Institute, 
you  know  —  what  was  his  name  ?  —  Well,  any 
way,  he  told  me  a  mournful  tale  one  day.  He 
had  suffered  a  great  misfortune.  He  had  spent 
a  summer  at  Nantucket,  where  he  had  caught  a 
strange  fish.  He  was  engaged  in  classifying  its 
bones,  when  he  was  called  away  a  moment  — 
and  alas  !  his  landlady  entered  his  room  and 
dusted  his  table  !  I  can  easily  understand  the 
importance  of  quiet  and  isolation  to  a  student." 

The  next  day  an  indignant  little  woman  moved 
herself  bag  and  baggage  from  the  room  at  the 
rear  of  the  Colonel's  cottage.  The  move,  like 


270  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

many  another  house-flitting,  was  disastrous. 
Her  waxen  doll,  her  dear  Victoria,  melted  in  the 
noonday  sun,  where  it  lay  forgotten  in  the  con 
fusion.  Some  of  her  books  were  spoiled  by  an 
afternoon  shower. 

But  the  little  Duchess  had  spirit,  and  she  rose 
to  the  occasion.  She  resolved  to  hold  the  for 
tress  permitted  her.  She  was  the  Scottish  Queen 
on  Lock-Leven  !  She  was  a  victim  of  injustice 
and  persecution.  A  revolution  had  occurred  in 
her  dominions,  and  she  was  rudely  dethroned  and 
cast  out.  The  grape  arbour  was  really  a  small 
rustic  house  over  which  vines  grew  thickly. 
This  was  her  fortress  ;  the  small  window,  a  port 
hole  commanding  the  Colonel's  office  and  manned 
with  two  flashing  eyes,  whence  she  shot  indignant 
glances.  Pizarro  was  sleeping  on  guard  on  his 
doorstep,  with  his  book  beside  him.  The  ban 
ished  Queen  was  no  longer  to  share  in  the  honour 
of  his  education. 

From  her  port-hole  she  soon  discovered  that 
the  Colonel  was  already  occupied  at  his  desk, 
surrounded  by  books  and  papers ;  also  that  a 
basket  of  shredded  paper  was  borne  away  by 
Pizarro  to  be  burned  in  the  kitchen  fire.  She 
concluded  that  the  Colonel  was  indeed  busy, 
manufacturing  something  out  of  paper,  —  kite- 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  271 

making  perhaps,  like  the  Mr.  Dick  in  David 
Copperfield,  that  everybody  laughed  at,  —  and 
that  some  failures  were  condemned  to  be  de 
stroyed.  Keenly  curious  as  she  was,  she  would 
not  for  worlds  have  condescended  to  ask  a 
question.  The  situation  was  strained  between 
the  Colonel  and  his  little  Duchess.  She  decided 
upon  a  reserved  and  dignified  course  with  him. 

So  passed  the  first  day.  In  the  afternoon, 
she  was  astounded  when  he  thrust  aside  the  vines 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  "And  here  is 
Her  Grace  in  her  sylvan  bower !  And  what 
did  you  think  of  the  fine  fellow  singing  all  day 
in  the  very  top  of  the  biggest  Lombardy  poplar  ? 
There  was  a  mocking-bird  for  you.  He  seems 
to  have  forgotten  it  is  high  time  he  was  off  to 
the  South." 

No,  Dorothea  had  not  heeded  the  mocking 
bird.  Captive  Queens  were  not  supposed  to  be 
interested  in  mocking-birds.  Besides  —  people 
must  be  taught  that  she  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with  ! 

But  who  could  resist  the  charm  of  his  kind 
ness  ?  Not  his  little  friend,  surely.  Taking  her 
by  the  hand  to  lead  her  indoors  before  the  chill 
of  the  evening,  he  told  her  the  Indian  legend  of 
the  mocking-bird ;  how  a  lovely  song,  sweeter 


272  THE   COLONEL'S  STORY 

than  anything  ever  sung  by  man  or  bird,  had 
once  been  heard  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  when 
the  world  was  young  and  at  peace.  A  song 
sweeter  even  than  Chopin's  answering  voices,  — 
those  wonderful  voices,  —  one  indignant,  defiant, 
or  despairing;  the  other,  the  angel  voice  of 
hope  and  resignation.  Well,  the  song  was 
lovelier  than  these,  than  anything,  and  had 
been  lost  when  men  began  to  fight  each  other ; 
not  lost  like  "il  bel  canto"  for  a  hundred  years 
only,  but  lost  forever,  unless  some  high,  pure 
spirit  should  find  it. 

"An  Indian  brave,"  continued  the  Colonel, 
"loved  the  daughter  of  a  hostile  chief  and  was 
beloved  by  her.  This  was  forbidden,  and  both 
were  cruelly  punished.  Both  died  so  bravely 
that  the  Great  Spirit  promised  to  reunite  them, 
provided  the  lover  should  find  the  Lost  Song. 
He  was  given  the  form  of  a  bird  that  he  might 
travel  north,  south,  east,  west — listen  and 
learn.  Every  summer  he  was  to  return  to  the 
house  of  the  Great  Spirit  in  the  Blue  Moun 
tains  and  sing  the  strains  he  had  learned.  Many 
moons  have  risen  and  set,  but  the  bird  is  still  a 
wanderer.  I  really  thought  this  morning  that 
fellow  in  the  big  poplar  had  found  the  Lost  Song, 
he  was  in  such  a  state  of  ecstasy."  He  looked 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  273 

down  at  the  wistful  little  face.  ;'You  won't 
mind,  dear,  sparing  me  a  little  while  ?  You'll 
understand  by  and  by." 

And  so  the  child's  resentment  must  needs 
melt  under  the  sunshine  of  his  charm.  She  was 
resolved,  however,  keenly  curious,  to  ask  no 
questions.  Soon  afterwards  the  elements  fa 
voured  her,  and  she  had  no  occasion  to  question. 
A  strip,  escaping  from  the  Colonel's  table  under 
the  window,  was  caught  by  the  wind,  and  flut 
tered  up  to  the  entrance  of  the  grape  arbour. 
On  it  was  written  :  — 

"Gwenlian  awed  him  by  the  majesty  of  her 
pure  maiden  eye.  He  cowered  beneath  it. 
Just  then  Harold  Tudor  rushed — " 

All  was  explained  !  The  Colonel  was  writing 
a  story !  Dorothea  read  with  starting  eye 
balls  !  She  resolved  to  keep  the  tremendous 
secret  as  long  as  she  could.  Finally,  weakening 
under  her  burden,  she  confided  it  to  Shirley, 
the  first  moment  she  could  find  her  sister  alone 
after  her  return. 

"Oh,  Dorothea  !"  she  exclaimed,  "how  dare 
you  ?  Don't  you  know  how  dishonourable  that 
was  ?  To  think  you  could  read  a  paper  intended 
to  be  destroyed !  Mama  would  break  her 
heart  if  she  knew  it." 


274  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

"Oh,  Shirley,  I  told  you  in  confidence.  You 
can't  repeat  what's  told  you  in  confidence." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  her  sister.  "But, 
Dorothea,  you  must  promise.  Yes,  yes.  I  know, 
dear,  you  didn't  think ;  but  never  do  it  again." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  FEW  evenings  before  this  unlucky  confes 
sion,  as  the  family  sat  on  the  moon-lit  veranda, 
the  Colonel  had  led  up  in  a  rather  roundabout 
way,  to  the  subject  of  story-making  and  novel- 
writing  in  general.  Presently  he  said  :  "It  is 
difficult,  I  imagine,  to  begin  a  story.  Just 
where  the  curtain  is  to  rise,  you  know." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  "that's  the 
reason  some  writers  don't  begin  at  all !  They 
lug  in  an  outsider  or  two,  and  make  some  one 
of  them  tell  the  story.  The  rest  of  us  are  kept 
cooling  our  heels  on  the  outside  to  suit  their 


convenience." 


"I  know  it,"  said  the  Doctor,  "and  I  consider 
it  a  mean  advantage  to  take  of  a  reader.  Here 
you  are,  politely  listening  to  the  remarks  of 
Captain  Chutterbuck  and  the  Rev.  Dryasdust, 
expecting  something  fine  from  those  gentlemen 
after  a  while  —  when  lo  and  behold,  they  bow 
themselves  out,  leaving  a  manuscript  which 
contains  the  story.  I  resent  such  treatment ! 
To  keep  a  man  standing  at  the  door  of  an 

275 


276  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

enchanted  palace  until  these  heavy  fellows  have 
a  hearing  !  It's  a  nuisance." 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  reflectively,  "in 
this  world,  it  is  never  what  is  done,  but  who 
does  it  that  makes  the  difference.  It  is  alto 
gether  right  and  proper  —  nay,  admirable  — 
for  the  Wizard  of  the  North  to  bar  with  his  wand 
the  door  of  the  Enchanted  Palace  until  his 
'Captain'  has  his  say,  and  I  imagine  it  would  be 
considered  little  short  of  a  crime  in  a  poor 
amateur  juggler  whom  nobody  knows." 

"He  is  beginning  it  in  earnest,"  thought 
Dorothea,  and  hugged  herself  in  delightful 
excitement.  The  Colonel,  always  dearly  loved, 
was  now  intensely  interesting  to  her.  Was  he 
not  writing  a  novel  ?  Were  not  all  of  them  to 
be  described  in  it  ?  Nothing  was  more  probable. 
His  lightest  words  became  significant,  and, 
indeed,  he  often  drifted  into  suggestive  talks  as 
he  smoked  with  her  father  on  the  veranda. 
Watching  for  these,  she  knew  no  weariness. 
Her  one  dread  was  lest  she  might  be  sent  off  to 
bed,  and  so  miss  some  revelation. 

"What  have  you,  Charles,"  asked  the  Colonel 
one  evening,  "  on  nautical  subjects  ?  I  have  been 
ransacking  the  library." 

"Nautical  ?"  queried  the  Doctor.    "That  is  a 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  277 

wide  word.  Is  it  ships,  seamen,  navigators,  or 
what?" 

"Currents,"  replied  the  Colonel,  "ocean  cur 
rents  ;  and  probabilities  of  storm,  in  certain 
latitudes." 

"Dear  me!"  thought  Dorothea.  "Has  he 
taken  Gwenlian  to  sea  ?  Oh,  if  he  should  drown 
her  !  If  her  ship  should  be  captured  by  pirates, 
and  she  walk  the  plank  like  Theodosia  Burr!" 

At  another  time  he  consulted  the  Doctor  upon 
the  action  of  poisons  —  what  poisons  were 
deadly,  and  the  length  of  time  before  death 
ensued  from  certain  poisons. 

"  Now  he  has  done  it ! "  thought  Dorothea. 
"He  is  murdering  that  sweet  Gwenlian — maybe 
Harold  Tudor,  too  !  They  are  in  the  hands  of 
the  pirates,  and  are  suffering  torture  from  slow 
poisoning."  That  night  she  slept  tremblingly 
with  all  the  covering  over  her  head. 

The  family  had  gathered  one  evening  in  the 
early  autumn  around  a  fire  in  "the  study," 
now  used  as  a  sitting  room.  The  Colonel  had 
been  silent  and  distrait.  Suddenly  he  said : 
"After  all,  the  hardest  thing,  I  fancy,  is  to 
finish  a  novel.  Imagine  a  writer  with  forty 
people,  more  or  less,  to  dispose  of.  Some  of 
them  villains  who  can,  on  no  account,  be  left 


278  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

on  earth,  —  a  perpetual  menace  to  the  happiness 
of  a  lovely  heroine.  Writing  of  civilized  times 
has  this  disadvantage;  you  cannot  massacre  a 
whole  community  —  stab,  scalp,  burn,  or  be 
head  everybody.  Life  is  safe  and  polite  —  the 
times  tolerant  to  the  green  bay  tree.  What's 
to  be  done  with  the  villains  ?" 

"Let  them  live  and  prosper  !"  said  the  Doctor. 
"The  dupe,  not  the  villain,  suffers  in  real  life. 
The  dupe,  honest  fellow,  blunders  along  and 
falls  into  the  pit  at  last.  The  villain  is  clever 
and  gets  off  scot  free.  Now  in  Sir  Walter's 
novels  there  is  a  systematic  plan.  Through 
one  half  of  the  book  the  ingenuous  hero  blunders, 
the  wily  villain  triumphs,  the  pretty  heroine 
despairs.  Turn  the  page  about  the  middle,  and 
presto !  All  the  tangles  begin  to  straighten 
themselves  out;  the  villain  comes  to  grief,  and 
the  heroine  is  brought  to  a  beautiful  burial, 
or  in  satins  and  laces,  to  her  wedding  day." 

"That  is  just  what  I  like,"  said  Miss  Prissy. 
"I  do  love  to  have  things  rounded  up  neatly 
and  comfortably.  I  should  not  mind  knowing 
how  many  raisins  are  in  the  wedding  cake." 

"This  fellow  Dickens,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"always  rings  down  his  curtain  on  a  tableau. 
Everybody  has  come  at  just  the  right  time  from 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  279 

the  ends  of  the  earth.  All  are  standing  in  the 
wings  awaiting  their  respective  cues.  In  they 
pop,  one  by  one,  the  curtain  falls  on  the  villain 
lying  confounded  and  writhing  on  the  floor,  and 
all  the  others  appropriately  posed,  uttering 
moral  sentiments  and  behaving  with  becoming 
virtue  and  discretion.  All  this  leaves  the  reader 
in  a  pleasant  state  of  mind.  This  new  man 
you  are  all  so  fond  of  —  it  appears  his  name  is 
not  really  'Titmarsh, '  but  something  'Thack 
eray' —  is  quite  satisfied  that  his  disreputable 
Becky  should  live  long,  and,  in  a  measure, 
prosper.  However,  he  doesn't  signify." 

"Shirley,"  whispered  Dorothea  that  night 
after  the  lights  were  out,  "he's  finishing  it." 

"Oh,  Dorothea,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  "can't 
I  make  you  understand,  dear  ?  Listen  !  You 
have  no  right  to  read  anything  not  intended  for 
you  —  that  is,  any  letter  or  note.  And  if  by 
accident  you  do  read  it,  never  speak  of  it.  Try 
to  forget  it." 

But  Dorothea  had  no  wish  to  forget  anything 
so  thrilling.  The  novel  was  her  only  excite 
ment.  Children  quickly  perceive  a  chill  in  the 
atmosphere  of  home.  Things  had  changed 
lately  for  her.  Her  father  was  silent  and 
troubled  —  and  her  mother  looked  anxious.  As 


280  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

to  Shirley !  Shirley  was  changed  altogether. 
And  her  Cousin  James  !  She  saw  him  only  at 
rare  intervals.  He  was  either  in  his  office  or 
on  horseback  with  Shirley,  or  off  for  a  day 
at  Catesby.  She  confided  to  Gabriella  that 
her  world  was  sadly  out  of  joint  —  that  for  her 
part  she  wished  there  were  no  such  things  as 
authors  among  home-people.  They  took  up 
everybody's  time,  made  everybody  nervous, 
and  were  a  long  time  finishing  up  their  old  books 
so  things  would  be  comfortable  and  pleasant 
again.  Gabriella,  never  known  to  contradict, 
loudly  purred  assent,  and  to  the  best  of  her 
limited  ability,  soothed  and  comforted  her 
mistress. 

There  came  at  last  an  eventful  evening.  The 
family  talk  had  been  of  names  —  the  queer 
changes  in  Virginian  names,  etc.  The  Colonel 
said  that  his  mother's  ancestry  had  been  Welsh. 
He  thought  the  names  of  her  people  in  ancient 
times  very  beautiful  —  Gwyril,  Gladwys,  Gwen- 
dolin,  Gwenlian. 

"And  the  men  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Berkeley,  always 
sympathetic  and  adaptable. 

Dorothea,  who  had  looked  up  at  the  first 
name,  blurted  out  explosively,  "Harold  Tudor" 

The  Colonel  looked  surprised.     Dorothea  ran 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  281 

to  him  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck.  "I 
tried  to  forget  it,  Cousin  James,  —  Shirley  said 
I  must, --but  I  couldn't.  Shirley  said  it  was 
dreadfully  wrong  for  me  to  read  a  paper  when  I 
found  one;  —  but  you  see  I  had  read  'Harold 
Tudor' !  I  asked  Mammy  about  it,  and  she 
said  she  understood  how  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  the  Colonel 
assured  her.  "Of  course,  I  am  quite  willing  you 
should  all  know,  although  I  had  planned  to 
surprise  you  later.  Yes,  the  name  occurs  in  a 
novel  I  have  written.  I  commenced  it  last  sum 
mer,  and  it  is  almost  ready  for  the  publisher. 
I  think  well  of  it,  very  well,  indeed.  It  was 
finished  from  a  sudden  impulse,  but  a  high  mo 
tive  ;  and,  really,  I  think  it  was  an  inspiration." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Miss  Prissy,  who  had 
been  too  much  astonished  to  speak.  "Will 
wonders  never  cease  ?  To  think,  after  trying  the 
navy,  law,  politics,  and  farming,  James  should 
have  burst  into  the  literary  world  !" 

"I  didn't,  dear  Miss  Prissy,"  laughed  the 
Colonel ;  "  I  am  crawling  in  on  my  hands  and 
knees.  I  have  been  thinking  out  my  story  for 
the  last  year,  and  have  nearly  completed  it." 

But  Dorothea's  arm  was  around  his  neck,  and 
she  whispered,  "Are  we  in  it,  Cousin  James  ?" 


282  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Oh,  I  mustn't  tell  you  the  story  !  'In  it'  ? 
I  should  like  to  know  how  you  were  to  be  kept 
out  of  it !  Of  course  you  are  in  it,  but  not  in 
this  prosaic  age.  The  Dissenters  and  Quakers 
have  left  us  nothing  picturesque  in  this  day  and 
generation  —  unless,  indeed,  it  be  their  '  per 
sonal  devil.'  Look  at  Mary,  now,  in  her  grey 
gown  !  You  will  find  her  in  my  book  as  she 
should  be  —  in  a  rich  brocade  over  a  satin  quilt, 
high-heeled  slippers  and  diamond  buckles,  her 
hair  piled  high  and  finished  with  flowers  and 
feathers." 

Everybody  laughed  at  this  picture,  but  Doro 
thea  in  her  heart  resented  it.  Could  anything 
be  lovelier  than  her  mother,  she  thought, 
when  she  stood  in  the  family  pew  at  old  St. 
Martin's,  her  fur-edged  pelisse  fastened  with 
tiny  barrel  clasps,  her  sweet  face  far  back 
in  the  great  bonnet,  like  a  picture  in  a  shadow- 
box  ? 

"Who  could  write  a  story  with  the  setting  of 
these  prosaic  times  ? "  repeated  the  Colonel. 
"No  dancing,  no  merry-making,  no  horse-racing, 
no  reading  the  romantic  literature  of  fifty  or  a 
hundred  years  ago,  no — " 

"No  drinking,  no  rioting,  no  oaths  and  swear 
ing  among  ladies  !  No  tipsy  clergymen  leading 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  283 

our  young  men  astray,  no  fights  on  the  court 
green,  no  broken  heads  for  Charles  to  mend  on 
every  court  day!"  said  Miss  Prissy,  with  more 
heat  than  she  usually  exhibited. 

The  Colonel  raised  a  deprecating  hand.  "I 
surrender,"  he  laughed.  "I  call  the  company  to 
witness  —  'picturesque*  was  the  word  I  used. 
Nothing  more,  nothing  worse  than  'pictur 
esque."  But  Mrs.  Berkeley  had  rallied  to  her 
Aunt.  "Think  of  the  dear  Quakers,  the  good 
Presbyterians  !"  she  began  indignantly. 

"Their  Sunday  dinners  are  very  indigestible, 
Mary,"  interrupted  her  husband. 

"Oh,  Charles,  how  can  you  !  Our  Bishop  sets 
his  face  like  a  flint  against  the  old-time  drink 
ing  and  rioting.  Doesn't  he  teach  us  to  live 
godly,  soberly,  and  righteously  in  this  present 
world  ?  To  think  only  of  things  lovely,  pure,  and 
of  good  report  ?  As  to  James's  romantic  litera 
ture,  how  can  he  read  it  and  'think  only  of  those 
things '  ? "  Turning  to  the  centre  table,  she  took 
up  "The  Keepsake,"  in  its  sumptuous]  binding 
of  cream  and  gold.  "I  like  the  new  things 
better,"  she  declared.  "Read  these  poems  by 
those  young  brothers,  Charles  and  Alfred  Tenny 
son.  There  is  delicacy  and  refined  fancy  for 
you,  —  without  a  bit  of  the  Puritanic  element 


284  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

you  are  always  deprecating  —  though  why  I 
can't  imagine  !" 

This  was  too  much.  Only  lately  had  gods 
walked  the  earth  —  gods  who  had  not  yet 
known  —  who  never  will  know  —  "twilight." 
Were  they  to  be  supplanted  by  these  youngsters  ? 
The  Colonel  looked  so  shocked  at  the  total 
depravity  of  her  taste  that  the  Doctor  brought 
back  the  discussion  of  his  book.  Had  he  signed 
his  own  name  ? 

"Why,  certainly,  Charley.  Why  not  ?  I  have 
reason  to  be  proud  of  it.  I  have  made  a  dedica 
tion, —  of  course,  not  mentioning  names,  —  but 
indicating  you  and  Mary,  so  your  friends  will 
understand." 

The  Doctor,  evidently  a  little  nervous,  ven 
tured  another  question. 

"Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  the  Colonel,  "it  is  not 
a  short  story.  It  is  longer  than  'American 
Notes,'  —  that  medley  of  bizarreries.  Heavens  ! 
What  has  old  Virginia  not  suffered  from  these 
itinerant  foreigners  !  Mrs.  Trollope,  Miss  Mar- 
tineau,  and  now  this  underbred,  ungrateful 
Dickens.  It  is  one  of  the  trials  of  my  life  to 
see  how  greedily  people  are  reading  him." 

"They  all  came  over  and  saw  us  as  we  are," 
said  the  Doctor. 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  285 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  retorted  the  Colonel.  "No 
man  can  describe  the  inside  of  a  house,  having 
seen  only  the  outside.  Why,  that  fellow  Thack 
eray  ridiculed  our  women,  sir  !  He  caricatured 
the  Virginia  lady,  sir  !" 

"The  Virginians"  had  not  then  been  written, 
nor  the  sacrilegious  hand,  which  "caricatured 
the  Virginia  lady"  through  Mrs.  Mountain  and 
simpering  Fanny,  been  laid  also  upon  our  peer 
less  Washington. 

"Was  that  the  reason  you  wrote  the  book, 
James  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Berkeley,  anxious  to  con 
ciliate  after  the  little  flurry. 

"Why,  —  no,  Mary!  I  really  desired  more 
than  anything  to  pay  a  grateful  compliment  to 
you  and  Charley.  You  have  made  my  visit 
to  you  most  delightful.  I  have  never  realized 
that  it  is  only  a  visit.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
have  to  set  the  dogs  on  me  some  day,"  he  added 
merrily. 

"Never  ! "  exclaimed  everybody  at  once.  Mrs. 
Berkeley  laid  a  reproachful  hand  on  his  sleeve. 
He  raised  the  white  hand  to  his  lips  respectfully, 
and  after  an  embarrassed  pause,  rose  and  walked 
back  and  forth,  strangely  agitated.  "I  wish  I 
could  tell  the  whole  truth!"  he  said.  "No,  it 
was  not  altogether  for  that.  When  I  found  an 


286  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

obstacle  —  money,  mere  money  —  in  the  way  of 
some  things  very  near  my  heart  which  I  wished 
to  do  for  the  happiness  of  —  others,  I  had  a 
great  longing  to  —  to  —  in  short,  I  can  hardly 
explain  !  Some  day  you  will  all  know  !  Those 
fellows  at  my  place  are  pretty  unfortunate 
farmers.  The  tobacco  just  pays  for  the  pleasure 
of  raising  it  —  hardly  that.  Last  year  a  little 
survived  the  rains  and  the  cutworm,  and  the 
burning  of  two  or  three  tobacco  houses.  When 
it  reached  the  market  in  Richmond,  there  was 
no  market  for  it.  However,"  he  continued, 
"  I  don't  mean  to  be  a  vagabond  any  longer  ! 
I  intend  to  settle  on  some  profession,  —  every 
man  should,  —  and  I  have  decided  upon  litera 
ture.  Nobody  is  more  independent  than  an 
author.  His  brain  is  his  bank  —  a  bank  that 
will  honour  every  draft.  We  have  outlived  the 
days  of  Milton  when  a  noble  poem  was  sold  for 
a  song.  Think  of  Hawthorne  !  Think  of  that 
fellow  Dickens,  reaping  a  golden  harvest  in  this 
country." 

"And  you  say  you  signed  it  ?  Did  you  sign 
your  full  name  or  only  initials  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Berkeley. 

"Assuredly,  —  and  my  full  name, — only  I 
signed  J.  Maddock  Jones.  My  dear  Mother, 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  287 

you  know,  was  a  Maddock.  Her  name  will  be 
recognized  in  England  and  Wales,  and  perhaps 
help  the  book  abroad.  She  was  descended  in 
direct  line  from  Madoc  Ap  Rhys.  You  may 
remember  he  married  Lady  Gladwys,  daughter 
of  a  Prince  of  Powys  —  ancestors  of  the  Tudors 
of  the  British  throne.  The  line  goes  back 
straight  and  clear,  to  the  great  ancient  kings  of 
South  Wales." 

"But,  James,"  exclaimed  Miss  Prissy,  putting 
down  her  knitting,  "  you  amaze  me !  Who  is 
always  condemning  Virginia  pride  in  ancestry  ? 
Who  says  we  degrade  it  when  we  boast  of  it  ? 
I  never  saw  such  topsy-turvy  times  as  these ! 
A  body  doesn't  know  what  to  expect  next." 

"  Why,  of  course,  Miss  Prissy,  I  am  not  doing 
this  solely  for  myself !  The  Maddock  family 
has  fallen  into  obscurity.  They  need  my  fame 
and  are  entitled  to  share  it.  It  is  a  good  old 
family,  and  lately  I  have  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
reestablish  it." 

"What  a  fellow  !"  said  the  Doctor  afterwards, 
to  his  wife  ;  "to  think  he  should  seize  this  oppor 
tunity  to  honour  his  mother.  Everybody  knows 
what  a  time  the  Catesby  Joneses  made  when  his 
father  married  her.  One  thing  astounds'  me  — 
James  Jones  doing  anything  to  make  money!" 


288 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 


"  I  wonder  if  he  will  succeed  !  What  do  you 
think?" 

"James  has  travelled  and  read  much.  Dear 
fellow  !  He  is  full  of  sentiment  —  and  poetry, 
and  all  that.  But,  bless  his  innocence !  He 
has  never  learned  any  worldly  wisdom.  Pizarro 
is  to-day  more  a  man  of  the  world.  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised  if  he  makes  a  hit.  Nothing  surprises 
me  these  days." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DOUGLAS  NEWTON  had  now  been  absent  six 
months,  and  nothing  had  been  heard  from  him. 
Fifty  days  were  allowed  for  the  journey  from 
New  York  to  San  Francisco  via  Panama,  but 
letters  had  been  expected  from  Chagres,  the 
Panama  "halfway  house,"  the  last  of  Novem 
ber.  Failing  this,  certain  information  of  the 
"forty-niners"  might  be  looked  for  at  Christ 
mas.  The  season  passed  anxiously  for  Wingfield, 
and  for  Harry  Newton,  who  spent  Christmas 
sadly  at  the  University.  In  March,  six  months 
after  Douglas  left,  the  Doctor  received  a  letter 
from  Harry :  — 

DEAR  DOCTOR: 

I  have  heard  nothing  whatever  from  Douglas.  I  must 
go  and  look  for  him,  unless  indeed  you  may  have  heard. 
As  you  are  his  oldest  friend,  I  take  comfort  in  the  hope  he 
may  have  written  to  you.  The  first  letter  I  wrote  to  him  I 
begged  for  his  address.  The  letter  has  been  returned  to 
me,  "  not  found." 

Faithfully  yours, 

HARRY  NEWTON, 
u  289 


290  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Before  you  answer,  Charles," said  the  Colonel, 
"let  me  ride  over  to  Dr.  Page's.  It  is  alto 
gether  probable  Douglas  has  written  to  Miss 
Anne.  Harry  naturally  might  feel  reluctant  to 
question  her."  The  Doctor  agreed  with  the 
Colonel,  and  he  set  forth  at  once  on  his  delicate 
errand. 

He  found  Anne  at  home  and  quite  willing  to 
grant  her  visitor  a  private  talk  of  a  few  minutes. 
The  Colonel,  with  delicacy,  circumlocution,  and 
much  embarrassment,  approached  the  subject, 
and  said  he  supposed  —  everybody  was  uneasy 
—  he  supposed  Miss  Anne  — 

"Why,  I'm  crazy  about  it,"  the  little  lady 
exclaimed.  "If  anything  happens  to  Douglas 
Newton,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do.  I  am 
devoted  to  him." 

The  Colonel's  heart  melted  within  him.  With 
a  meaning  look  he  said,  "Say  no  more,  my  dear 
young  lady  !  Rest  assured  you  have  my  tender 
sympathy.  It  would  mean  more  to  you  than 
to  anybody  should  anything  —  which  God  for 
bid  —  befall  Douglas  Newton." 

Anne  opened  wide  eyes.  "Why,  Colonel 
Jones,  you  don't  think  Douglas  is  in  love  with 
me,  do  you  ?  You  don't  suppose  I  care  for  him 
if  he  isn't  ?" 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  291 

"I  thought  —  we  all  thought — "  stammered 
the  poor  Colonel. 

"Nonsense  !"  said  Anne,  impatiently.  "  Doug 
las  is  dying  for  Shirley  Berkeley.  I  mean  it  — 
dying!  He  told  me  so  himself,  when  he  bade 
me  good-bye  !  He  said  life  was  worth  nothing 
to  him  —  nothing;  that  he  was  too  poor  ever 
to  hope  for  her.  She  was  never  to  know  it. 
He  said  more  —  but  I  promised.  Oh,  why 
did  you  make  me  break  my  promise?"  —  and 
the  excited  girl  burst  into  tears.  "And  Douglas 
is  so  splendid !  And  Shirley  ought  to  care ! 
She  ought  to  be  made  to.  I  don't  see  how  she 
can  be  so  cruel.  And  Douglas  told  me  —  but  I 
promised !  And  everything  is  so  dreadful  ! 
Douglas  hasn't  written  to  Harry,  and  I  know  he 
isn't  alive.  He  has  been  mur  —  murdered  by 
those  awful  Mexican  robbers,"  and  the  poor 
child  sobbed  convulsively. 

She  was  a  pathetic  little  figure  as  she  sat  with 
her  head  bowed  on  her  arms  at  the  table.  The 
Colonel  rose  and  looked  down  upon  her,  —  too 
much  surprised  and  troubled  for  words.  He 
did  not  wish  to  wait  until  she  should  think 
it  necessary  to  lift  her  tear-stained  face.  He 
was  possessed  with  a  conviction  that  she  loved 
Douglas,  in  spite  of  her  protesting  to  the  con- 


292  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

trary,  but  that  Douglas  should  have  declared 
his  devotion  to  Shirley  was  an  astounding 
revelation.  For  the  moment  it  overwhelmed 
him. 

Stooping  over  the  prostrate  little  figure,  he 
begged  her  forgiveness  for  the  pain  he  had 
caused  her. 

"Why,  you  haven't  done  a  thing,  Colonel," 
said  Anne,  suddenly  looking  up,  and  shaking  her 
head  as  a  flower  might  shake  off  raindrops. 
"It  is  I  who  should  beg  pardon  —  crying  here 
like  a  great  baby,"  and  she  laughed  hysterically. 
"You  won't  tell  anybody  about  Douglas  ? 
Thank  you  —  I  knew  you  wouldn't.  You  aren't 
going  right  away  ?  Come  again  soon !  We 
may  have  news  before  long  after  all.  Remember, 
now !  You  aren't  to  tell  about  Shirley.  I 
promised  Douglas  on  my  sacred  word  and  honour 
—  and  you  just  made  me  tell  you." 

In  her  room,  she  clenched  her  small  fist  at  the 
face  in  the  mirror  before  her.  "Well,  you 
have  distinguished  yourself !  A  pretty  shaky 
reed  you  are  for  anybody  to  lean  upon  !  I'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

A  troubled  Colonel  was  speeding  home  to 
Berkeley  Castle.  Douglas  !  Could  it  be  possi 
ble  that  Shirley  —  of  course  not !  Away  with 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  293 

such  absurd  suggestions.  Nobody  knew  Shirley 
as  he  did,  —  but  poor,  poor  Douglas  ! 

The  sun  had  set  when  he  reached  home,  and 
the  evening  lights  were  burning  in  the  house. 
With  a  hasty  word  "no  news"  to  the  Doctor, 
the  Colonel  excused  himself  from  supper  and 
repaired  to  his  room  in  the  office.  He  sat  long 
in  the  darkness  —  long  after  the  house  lights  were 
extinguished.  Before  he  could  sleep,  he  had 
marshalled  before  him  all  the  smiles,  kind  words, 
the  seeking  of  interviews,  of  drives,  with  which 
Shirley  had  so  honoured  him  since  her  coming 
home  in  September,  and  he  had  resolved  that 
soon  —  very  soon  —  he  would  tell  her  all,  — 
and  then  ! 

But  of  one  thing  we  poor,  half-blind  mortals 
may  be  sure.  If  doubt  —  the  serpent  —  enters 
the  bosom,  he  has  come  to  abide.  He  makes 
no  brief  visits.  He  may  creep  back  into  the 
hole  into  which  we  indignantly  thrust  him,  but 
he  will  know  his  own  hour  for  raising  his  ugly 
head.  And  good  luck  will  it  be  if  he  comes  out 
alone.  A  brood  of  active  little  kindred  doubts 
are  pretty  apt  to  accompany  him. 

The  early  April  evenings  in  the  South  are 
already  balmy,  soft,  and  delightful.  The  air  is 
laden  with  vernal  odours,  from  fragrant  leaf 


294  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

buds  of  the  lilac,  from  hyacinths  and  tulips, 
and  many  flowering  trees.  Soft,  sleepy  mur- 
murings  of  birds  and  insects  contend  unequally 
with  the  voices  of  the  frogs  in  the  grass  and 
around  the  streams.  Every  breath,  every  sound 
speaks  of  hope  and  love  and  promise.  On  such 
an  evening,  Shirley  stood  in  the  veranda  over 
looking  the  garden,  with  an  arm  clasped  around 
the  pillar  on  which  she  leaned  her  head.  The 
family  had  been  talking  of  matters  and  things  in 
general  —  of  recent  political  movements,  of  the 
Colonel's  great  book,  which  he  had  announced  as 
almost  ready  to  be  sent  to  a  New  York  publisher. 
He  had  brought  home  from  the  Northern  mail 
a  number  of  magazines  and  papers,  among  them 
The  Evening  Mirror.  There  was  an  American 
genius  in  those  days  who  flashed  forth  like  a 
meteor  out  of  a  dark  cloud.  Presently  the 
meteor  became  a  fixed  star,  burning  with  such 
splendour  that  men  forgot  the  cloud.  Around 
the  astral  lamp  that  evening,  the  family  gathered 
to  hear  the  Colonel  read  aloud  a  choice  selection 
from  this  author.  He  was  extremely  nice  in  his 
pronunciation,  but  his  "r's,"  always  elusive  as 
terminals,  escaped  him  altogether  in  his  appre 
ciative  rendering  of  a  famous  poem  of  this 
genius :  — 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  295 

"By  that  Heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we 

both  adoah, 
Tell  this  heart,  with  sorrow  laden,  if  within  that  distant 

Aiden 
It  shall  clahsp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  call 

Lenoah, — 
Clahsp  a  rah  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  call 

Lenoah. 
Quoth  the  Raven,  'Nevahmoah.'" 

The  Colonel's  pride  in  the  author  was  tem 
pered  with  surprise.  "Think  of  that  fantastic 
fellow!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  when  we  were 
at  the  University  together,  he  seemed  destitute 
of  the  instincts  of  moral  principle.  I  always 
understood  he  was  expelled.  He  was  an  in 
spired  ingrate  !  What  old  John  Allan  endured 
from  him  beggars  description.  Now  he  has 
distanced  us  all ! " 

"We  must  forget  his  early  errors,"  said  Mrs. 
Berkeley.  "When  the  pond-lily  blooms,  no 
body  remembers  its  slimy  bed.  Nobody  should 
remember." 

"Ah,  Mary!"  said  the  Doctor,  "you  can't 
expect  us  to  accept  any  such  sophistry.  The  cases 
are  not  analogous.  Your  lily  is  not  responsible 
for  its  birth  ;  yet  its  first  act  is  to  grope  upwards 
through  the  darkness.  It  never  rests  until  it 


296  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

reaches  the  light,  and  at  the  first  smile  of  the 
sun  opens  all  its  golden  heart.  Imagine  your 
lily  born  in  the  light  and  choosing  the  slimy  bed 
for  its  portion  !" 

But  the  Colonel  was  full  of  enthusiasm.  "No 
use  in  reading  anything  after  that !"  he  declared 

—  and  the  family  circle  resolved  itself  into  the 
usual  committee   for  desultory  discussion  upon 
any  subject  that  presented  itself.     Shirley  had 
seemed  to  listen  —  but  at  the  first  pause  had 
risen  and  gone  out.     The  Colonel  made  haste  to 
follow  and  found  her  alone,  in  an  attitude  than 
which  his  imagination  could  conceive  of  nothing 
more  beautiful,  more  appealing. 

"I  don't  think,  Shirley,  you  told  me  your  own 
idea  of  a  good  novel,  when  we  were  all  dis 
cussing  my  book." 

"I,  Cousin  James  !"    -  she  paused  and  sighed 

—  "I  think  the  world  needs  a  book  to  help  us 
bear  our  lives." 

"Shirley!"  The  poor  Colonel's  heart  was  as 
wax  within  him.  "Shirley,  are  you  troubled? 
Is  your  life  hard  to  bear  ?  Tell  me  !" 

He  felt  that  his  great  hour  had  come  !  He 
stood  beside  her  drooping  figure  as  she  leaned 
against  the  pillar  and  longed  to  fold  her  in  his 
arms.  "Tell  me,  dear  Shirley!"  She  turned 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  297 

and  confronted  him,  and  as  the  light  fell  full 
upon  her,  he  was  shocked  at  her  indignant, 
tear-stained  face.  "Hard  to  bear?  I  can  bear 
no  more  !  My  heart  will  break  !  How  can  you 
—  every  one  of  you  —  talk  about  politics  and 
gossip  and  books,  and  smile  and  be  happy  when 
Douglas  —  Douglas — "  and  she  broke  down,  and 
with  a  passionate  sob  left  him  standing,  para 
lyzed  with  surprise,  slain  with  despair. 

In  the  darkness  and  silence  of  his  own  room  he 
met  his  fate  squarely  and  grappled  with  it.  For 
the  moment,  it  would  seem  that  all  was  over. 
Her  passionate  face,  her  heart-broken  tones,  had 
told  more  than  her  words.  And  yet  —  how 
could  it  be  ?  She  had  seen  so  little  of  Douglas 
since  his  return  from  abroad  —  had  received 
nothing  —  no  letters,  no  gifts  —  from  him.  May 
not  this  be  a  schoolgirl's  fleeting  fancy  ?  She 
was  so  young  —  would  she  not  forget  him  ? 
And  Douglas  —  who  could  be  sure  of  the  con 
stancy  of  an  untried  boy  ?  Evidently  he  was 
content  to  be  absent.  These  were  the  insistent 
thoughts  —  coming  again  and  again  as  he  paced 
the  floor  all  during  the  night  —  coming,  to  be  im 
mediately  rejected  as  unworthy,  and  stifled  at 
last  by  one  high  and  final  resolve. 

The    next   morning   the    Colonel    calmly    an- 


298  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

nounced  to  the  family  :  "I  have,  after  thinking 
about  it  some  time,  decided  to  take  a  trip  south 
ward.  I  need  change  and  sea  air.  Yes,  Charles," 
he  added,  answering  the  Doctor's  questioning 
look,  "the  old  fever,  the  old  wander-lust  is  on 
me  again.  Never  mind,  Dolly !  See  what  I'll 
bring  you  !" 

The  Colonel  was  going  to  California  to  find 
Douglas  Newton. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LESS  than  eight  months  before  the  Colonel 
sailed  had  tidings  of  the  Western  Eldorado 
reached  the  East.  Of  Chagres  on  the  Panama 
route,  with  its  cane  huts,  frenzied  crowd  of  trav 
ellers,  dirt,  scarcity  of  food,  general  demoraliza 
tion,  Bayard  Taylor  has  given  a  vivid  descrip 
tion.  Those  of  us  who  remember  him  can  fancy 
his  pen  racing  over  the  page ;  describing  nerve- 
racking,  bone-breaking  horrors  with  the  cheerful 
face  with  which  he  seems  to  have  passed  through 
life. 

Our  Colonel  was  earlier  than  Bayard  Taylor 
by  two  months.  From  a  canoe  on  the  Chagres 
River  he  looked  out  —  sometimes  scorched  with 
heat,  sometimes  shaken  with  crashes  of  thunder, 
sometimes  drenched  with  rain  "as  if  the  sky  had 
caved  in"  —  upon  vegetation  and  scenery  that 
only  a  Bayard  Taylor  could  describe.  The  poor 
Colonel's  heart  was  wrung,  but  his  resolve  was 
high.  At  night,  as  he  lay  under  the  thatch  of 
the  canoe  on  the  Chagres  River,  his  thoughts 
were  far  away  from  all  the  heat,  degradation, 
and  discomfort  —  his  shut  eyes  making  pictures 

299 


300  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

of  the  dear  home ;  and  the  half-breed  boatman 
completed  the  illusion  by  chanting  the  negro 
melody,  then  popular  in  Virginia,  which  he  had 
learned  from  early  voyagers  :  — 

"Oh,  Susannah  !     Don't  you  cry  for  me ; 
I'm  off  to  California  with  my  banjo  on  my  knee ! 
The  gold  is  waiting  for  me,  a-lying  all  around  ; 
All  I  got  to  do  is  just  to  pick  it  off  the  ground." 

After  a  wonderful  journey  —  wonderful  and 
most  exhausting — the  western  coast  was  reached, 
and  the  motley  crowd  waited  for  the  final  struggle 
for  quarters  on  the  Panama.  She  sailed  at  last 
through  the  Golden  Gate  —  "that  magnificent 
portal  to  the  commerce  of  the  Pacific."  A  strag 
gling  town  of  tents  and  canvas  houses  with  here 
and  there  a  loosely  constructed  frame-house, 
strung  along  paths  of  dust  and  dirt,  was  the  San 
Francisco  of  that  day ;  —  destined  to  become  in 
two  short  months  more  a  large  city  full  of  people 
— "Yankees,  Californians  in  sarapes  and  sombre 
ros,  Chilians,  Sonorians,  Kanakas  from  Hawaii, 
Chinese  with  long  tails,  Malays,  negroes,  and 
others  in  whose  embrowned  and  bearded  visages 
it  was  impossible  to  recognize  any  special  nation 
ality." 

The  Colonel,  like  all  newcomers,  was  overtaken 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  301 

with  a  sense  of  utter  bewilderment.  Leaving  his 
luggage  that  he  might  look  for  a  porter,  he  was 
informed  that  no  man  filled  that  office;  he 
must  carry  his  own  trunk  !  As  this  would  be  in 
convenient  while  he  searched  the  town  for  lodg 
ings,  he  left  it  on  the  wharf.  Several  ordinary 
frame-houses  bore  the  proud  names  of  "Parker 
House,"  "City  Hotel,"  "Tremont  Family  Hotel." 
Gamblers,  he  was  told,  filled  the  entire  upper 
stories  of  these  houses,  besides  their  own  great 
canvas  tent,  the  "El  Dorada."  There  were  no 
decent  rooms  to  be  had  anywhere.  Every 
corner  was  filled  —  every  bed ;  and  all  the  cracks 
and  crevices,  the  floors,  beds,  and  blankets 
swarmed  with  fleas  !  The  Colonel  thought  a 
cellar  room  might  be  less  popular  and  therefore 
cheaper,  but  he  was  told  there  was  but  one  for 
rent.  Cellars  under  the  earth  were  considered 
desirable,  and  this  one  solitary,  untenanted 
chamber  would  cost  him  $250  a  month  !  He 
finally  returned  to  the  "Harbour  House" — near 
est  the  wharf  of  any,  and  therefore  near  the 
trunk  !  This  he  shouldered  for  himself  and  con 
veyed  with  his  blanket  and  bag  to  a  small  domi 
cile  under  the  rafters,  for  which  he  was  to  pay 
without  meals  $20  a  week  —  with  meals  $45 
"and  upward." 


302  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

The  streets  were  filled  all  day  with  eager  ar 
rivals  :  gold-seekers ;  venders  of  every  conceiv 
able  utensil  required  by  diggers  ;  wildly  exultant 
men  fresh  from  "the  diggings"  with  solid  lumps 
of  gold  to  display ;  defeated,  enfeebled  men, 
broken  in  fortune  and  health,  going  home  to  die ; 
gamblers,  labourers,  women,  and  children.  Many 
of  the  latter  were  seated  on  the  earth,  occupied, 
not  in  the  juvenile  evolvement  of  pies  out  of  dirt, 
but  in  digging  it  up  with  anything  they  could 
command,  —  old  rusty  knives,  handles  of  de 
funct  spoons,  sticks,  —  and  finding  therein  minute 
grains  of  gold,  too  small  to  be  handled,  but  se 
cured  by  applying  the  head  of  a  pin  moistened 
with  their  own  saliva  !  These  children  sometimes 
collected  as  much  as  five  dollars'  worth  of  gold- 
dust  in  one  day. 

The  Colonel  made  haste  to  visit  the  Alcalde, 
who  happened  to  be  the  eminent  writer,  Edward 
Bryant.  He  had  been  among  the  early  visitors, 
and  was,  of  course,  in  San  Francisco  at  the  time 
Douglas  was  supposed  to  have  arrived.  The 
Alcalde  listened  with  interest  and  sympathy  to 
the  Colonel's  story,  but  shook  his  head.  "There 
can  be  no  doubt,"  he  said,  "that  Mr.  Newton's 
letters  have  been  lost.  That  he  is  now  here  is 
probable  —  here  and  successful.  Had  he  failed, 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  303 

he  would  have  returned  home.  There  is  no  use 
in  suggesting  examination  of  lists  of  arrivals  in 
hotel  registers.  There  are  no  registers.  The 
marking  of  graves  ?  Graves  are  not  marked. 
Such  is  the  eager  hurry,  the  excited  rush  and 
struggle,  that  if  a  man's  dead  body  is  seen  floating 
in  the  river,  he  is  not  even  looked  at.  Some 
passer-by  may  remark  :  'He's  a  poor  man  or  he 
wouldn't  float.  If  he  had  gold  about  him,  he 
would  sink." 

"Then  what  must  be  my  first  step  ?"  asked  the 
Colonel. 

The  Alcalde  considered.  "  I  regret  I  have  so 
little  power  to  help  you.  You  might  arrange  a 
systematic  plan  of  search  and  spend  a  year  with 
no  result.  You  may  walk  out  to-morrow  and 
meet  Mr.  Newton.  I  will  introduce  you  to  my 
friend,  Dr.  Wierzbicki.  He  has  written  a  fine 
book  on  'California  as  it  is.'  He  has  gone  about 
among  all  classes  of  men,  and  is  just  the  man 
that  may  have  met  Mr.  Newton  and  been  at 
tracted  to  him." 

But  alas,  the  versatile  and  charming  Dr. 
Wierzbicki  —  although  keenly  interested  —  knew 
nothing.  He,  however,  reassured  the  Colonel  in 
regard  to  possible  violence  at  the  hands  of  despera 
does.  "A  man's  rights  and  claims  are  respected 


3o4  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

here,"  he  said,  "although  there  is  no  territorial 
government  as  yet.  The  silent  consent  of  all  is 
generally  enough  to  insure  to  a  miner  his  claim. 
Improvised  judges  and  juries  are  appealed  to  when 
necessary,  and  always  obeyed,  but  the  miners 
easily  settle  their  own  disputes.  There  seems 
to  be  high  character  among  the  newcomers, 
of  whom  Mr.  Newton  was  one.  There  is  no  vio 
lence,  no  murder,  no  theft.  If  a  man  is  called 
away  from  a  new  'find, '  he  can  stick  his  pick 
axe  or  shovel  in  the  hole,  leave  his  small  belong 
ings  beside  it,  and  when  he  returns,  he  will  find  it 
has  been  untouched."  Not  yet  had  arisen  the 
dark  days  of  anarchy,  murders,  and  robberies. 

The  Alcalde  thought  the  Colonel  would  be 
wise  to  remain  in  San  Francisco,  for  adventurers 
were  always  returning  home  and  would  sail 
from  the  San  Francisco  harbour.  Some  one  of 
these  might  appear  who  had  seen  Mr.  Newton. 
Besides,  there  was  intense  hatred  of  Americans 
among  some  of  the  old  Spanish  families  who 
justly  resented  the  cession  of  California  to  the 
United  States,  and  despised  Americans,  —  who 
"like  dogs  were  always  running  with  their  noses 
to  the  ground,  snuffing  about  for  gold."  An 
American  falling  into  their  hands  might  not 
escape  scatheless. 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  305 

Obeying  these  hints,  the  Colonel  spent  many 
weary  fruitless  days  at  the  wharf,  watching  the 
passengers  in  the  outgoing  boats  bound  for  the 
ships  in  the  offing.  One  day  he  was  attracted 
by  the  lounging,  lazy  gait  of  a  man  who  was 
hurling  strong  words  at  one  of  the  wharf  officials. 
"Do  you  think  I'll  work  for  you  like  a  damned 
nigger  for  $10  a  day  ?  You  may  tote  your  own 
boxes.  Hello,  stranger!"  as  he  espied  the 
Colonel.  "Want  a  outfit  ?  I  can  sell  this  bowl 
and  shovel  and  these  overalls  dirt  cheap  —  an' 
if  you  don't  want  to  use  'em  yo'self,  I  can  find  a 
cheap  Injun  to  dig  for  you.  'Pears  like  you 
can  afford  it." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him  narrowly.  "Is 
your  name  Bangs  ?"  he  asked,  —  "Tom  Bangs 
from  Virginia  ?" 

The  man's  first  impulse  was  flight  and  the 
Colonel's  first  thought  was  stern  rebuke,  but  he 
quickly  perceived  that  he  might  learn  from  Bangs 
news  of  Douglas. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Bangs,"  he  said  kindly, 
and  offered  his  hand. 

:<  Lawd,  Cunnel !  Is  this  you  ?  I'm  pow'ful 
glad  to  see  you  !  Come  to  find  your  fortune  ? 
How  d'you  leave  all  ?" 

"Have  you  made  your  own  fortune,  Bangs  ?" 


306  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"I  don't  dig,  Gunnel.  The  work  is  stiff,  an* 
a  man  with  a  fam'ly  has  to  consider  his  health. 
It's  pow'ful  hard  on  a  man's  hands  —  all  this  dig- 
gin*  an*  rubbin' !  I  gits  along  buyin'  cheap  an' 
sellin'  high,  —  pickaxes,  shovels,  and  sich,  an' 
anything  that  comes  handy.  I'm  not  lookin'  for 
no  great  fortune." 

"Would  you  like  something  to  drink,  Bangs  ?" 

"  No,  thank  ye,  Cunnel  !  The  liquor  here  is  rank 
pizen,  but  'twon't  hurt  you  if  you  let  it  alone." 

"Well,  then,  how  about  coffee  ?  It  is  very 
good  at  my  quarters.  Come  with  me." 

Over  their  innocuous  cups  the  Colonel  told  his 
story.  Tom  Bangs  had  seen  Douglas.  He  had 
been  at  the  wharf  the  last  of  February  when  the 
California  arrived,  and  had  watched  the  passen 
gers  come  ashore.  A  sick  man  was  brought 
in  by  two  men  on  a  sail,  and  he  recognized  Mr. 
Douglas  Newton.  "He  looked  mighty  sick," 
and  the  men  carried  him  to  the  Harbour  House, 
and  there  they  left  him.  He  had  lost  his  baggage, 
but  some  papers  were  in  his  pocket  and  some 
money.  He,  Bangs,  went  to  see  Mr.  Newton 
every  day,  but  for  a  long  time  he  was  delirious 
and  knew  nobody.  "He  had  the  fever  and  had 
it  bad."  One  day  when  Bangs  called,  Mr.  New 
ton  was  gone.  The  people  at  the  Harbour  House 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  307 

said  he  had  walked  away  in  the  night.  The 
Colonel  asked  if  he  had  paid  his  bill  at  the  Har 
bour  House. 

"Oh,  yes,  suh  !  You  see  he  had  been  sensible 
for  two  or  three  days,  but  almighty  weak.  He 
was  tormented  cruel  by  all  the  dirt  an'  fleas  an' 
noise,  an'  I  reckon  he  walked  away  to  git  out 
of  Frisco  —  clean  away  !  Oh,  yes,  suh  !  He 
paid  the  house  an'  he  paid  me,  too,  as  soon  as  he 
come  to  himself,  all  fa'r  an'  squar'.  You  see  I 
had  bought  some  clean  does  for  'im,  an'  he  paid 


me." 


"Now,  Bangs,"  said  the  Colonel,  "we've  got 
to  find  Mr.  Newton  !  Give  up  your  trading  and 
peddling.  Give  me  all  your  time.  I'll  make  it 
worth  your  while." 

He  puzzled  over  the  fact  of  Douglas's  late 
arrival.  He  must  have  altered  his  plans  after 
writing  to  Dr.  Berkeley,  and  made  the  four  or 
five  months'  voyage  around  the  Horn.  Possibly 
he  had  been  delayed  in  Panama.  He  realized, 
with  a  sinking  heart,  the  slender  chance  of  find 
ing  him  alive. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  Colonel's  new-found  neighbour  proved  a 
most  efficient  assistant,  full  of  interest  and  fertile 
in  suggestion.  Every  morning  early  he  reported 
to  his  chief,  learned  the  plan  for  the  day,  and  to 
gether  they  proceeded  on  their  search.  Every 
night  found  them  returning,  weary  and  dis 
couraged,  to  the  Colonel's  evening  meal  and 
subsequent  smoke. 

"Wall,  now  this  looks  like  old  times,"  Bangs 
said  one  night  when  the  Colonel  produced  and 
presented  to  him  a  genuine  Appomattox  clay 
pipe.  He  grinned  as  he  rilled  it.  "'Minds  me 
of  the  ole  ooman."  This  was  the  first  allusion  he 
had  made  to  his  abandoned  spouse.  He  had 
asked  no  questions,  and  the  Colonel  volunteered 
no  information.  As  the  days  wore  on,  marked 
by  his  faithful  service,  the  Colonel  had  begun  to 
think  that  Mrs.  Bangs  might  have  been  too  sharp 
a  thorn  in  the  flesh  to  be  endured. 

"You  see,  Cunnel,"  said  his  companion,  be 
tween  the  puffs  of  smoke,  "  it  was  this-a-way  : 
The  ole  ooman  was  pow'ful  free  with  her  lan- 

308 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  309 

gwidge,  an*  she  kinder  riled  me.  If  you  was  a 
married  man,  Cunnel,  you'd  understan'  a  man 
can't  nohow  abide  a  cussin'  ooman  an'  a  crowin' 
hen.  Well,  one  day  she  was  so  uncommon  blas- 
pheemus  I  got  het  up,  an'  I  raly  was  feared  I'd 
hit  'er  !  I  jus'  had  to  slip  out  the  back  do'  an' 
run  ;  —  and  I  run  clean  to  Californy." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  the  Colonel,  wearily,  "it's  all 
one  in  a  lifetime.  Don't  talk  about  it  now. 
I  wonder  if  there's  any  use — "  and  he  bowed 
his  head  on  his  arms  on  the  table  with  an  air  of 
dejection. 

"I  knowed  you'd  git  down-hearted  as  soon  as 
them  damned  niggers  struck  up  singin'  in  the 
street,  'Carry  me  back  to  ole  Virginny'  !  That's 
why  I  tried  to  chirk  you  up  a  bit  tellin'  'bout  the 
ole  ooman,  an'  make  you  thank  Gawd  you're  a 
bachelor.  There  they  go  agin  !  Cuss  them  fel 
lers  !"  and  he  dashed  out,  and  threw  some  silver 
to  the  sable  musicians.  "Here  you  !  Do  you 
want  to  kill  the  folks  in  here  with  that  song. 
Strike  up  something  hearty  now, —  'Susannah' 
or  'Coal-black  Rose,'"  —  and  he  returned  to  his 
forlorn  friend  to  the  stirring  strain  of  "It'll 
never  do  to  give  it  up  so,  Mr.  Brown,"  which 
my  contemporaries  doubtless  remember. 

It  was  now  drawing  near  to  the  end  of  June. 


3io  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

The  Colonel,  although  thoroughly  discouraged, 
had  yet  no  intention  of  returning.  Before  leav 
ing  home  he  had  gone  to  Richmond  and  sold, 
in  advance,  his  year's  crops.  Under  promise 
of  strict  secrecy,  he  had  confided  his  mission  to 
Harry  Newton,  for  he  desired,  of  all  things,  to 
spare  Shirley  the  anguish  of  suspense  and 
feverish  watching  for  news.  He  forewarned  the 
Doctor  that  letters  were  not  to  be  expected .  He 
reported,  however,  regularly  to  Harry,  begging 
him  to  remain  —  as  his  brother  had  wished  — 
to  the  close  of  his  term  at  the  University,  and 
promising  not  to  relax  in  his  efforts  to  obtain 
news  of  Douglas.  He  now,  with  Tom  Bangs, 
visited  some  of  the  Franciscan  Fathers,  but  from 
them  nothing  could  be  learned.  The  good  fathers 
regarded  the  search  for  one  man  a  small  thing 
indeed  by  comparison  with  their  own  misfortunes. 
Wandering  farther  and  farther  south,  from  one 
dismantled  mission  to  another,  the  Colonel  would 
often  pause  in  utter  amazement  at  the  gorgeous 
growths  of  what  seemed  to  be  an  eternal  summer. 
Great  trees  of  mango,  cocoa,  sycamore,  palm, 
shaded  banks  of  thickest  verdure.  Every  atom 
of  brown  earth  afforded  foothold  for  some  brill 
iant  flower.  "Sometimes  a  spike  of  scarlet 
flowers  was  thrust  forth  like  the  tongue  of  a  ser- 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  311 

pent  from  the  heart  of  some  convolution  of 
unfolding  leaves,  and  the  creepers  and  parasites 
dropped  trails  and  streamers  of  fragrance  from 
boughs  that  would  shoot  halfway  across  the 
rivers."  Had  Douglas  broken  his  heart  amid  all 
this  beauty  ?  Did  his  young  body  lie  some 
where  beneath  it  ? 

The  searchers  rode  mules  on  these  expeditions 
southward,  and  it  was  difficult  to  restrain  the 
animals  as  the  fields  of  wild  mustard  stretched 
on  either  side.  This  wonderful  plant,  the  terror 
of  the  farmer,  had  sprung  from  its  tiny  seed,  "the 
least  of  all  seeds,"  and  had  become  "greatest 
among  herbs,  so  that  the  birds  of  the  air  lodged 
in  the  branches  thereof."  Thickets  of  the 
mustard,  in  full  bloom,  looked  as  though  it 
might  have  drawn  the  gold  from  its  roots  and 
held  it  aloft  as  an  offering,  —  or  as  an  admirer 
has  described  it  —  as  if  a  golden  cloud  had  de 
scended  and  become  entangled  in  its  branches. 

One  evening  at  a  small  wayside  inn  the 
Colonel  met  another  traveller,  Father  Jose, 
journeying  to  San  Francisco  from  Santa  Bar 
bara.  Leaving  him  to  hold  improving  conver 
sation  with  Tom,  the  Colonel  walked  out  under 
a  brilliantly  starlit  sky.  Multitudes  of  stars 
unknown  to  the  North  appear  in  the  wonderful 


312  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

atmosphere  of  California  —  and  wisely  has  the 
great  observatory  of  the  country  been  located 
there.  Presently  a  great  full  moon  rose  silently 
from  a  dark  sea  of  green,  flooding  the  undulating 
hills  with  light  and  here  and  there  lending  a 
gleam  to  the  outstretched  arms  of  the  wooden 
crosses  the  pious  Catholics  had  erected  on  their 
summits.  The  Colonel  walked  with  uplifted 
eyes  and  heart.  "When  I  consider  the  heavens 
the  work  of  Thy  fingers,  the  moon  and  the  stars, 
what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?" 

He  unconsciously  entered  a  path  shaded  with 
wild  mustard  growing  thickly  on  each  side  and 
arching  overhead.  He  had  walked  through  this 
natural  tunnel  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts, 
when  he  perceived  the  figure  of  a  young  girl 
advancing  from  the  entrance  beyond.  Alarmed 
at  the  possible  consequences  of  trespassing,  he 
hid  himself  among  the  boughs  of  mustard.  It 
was  light  as  day  at  the  end  of  the  path,  which 
the  Colonel  now  saw  led  to  an  opening  and  a 
house  among  trees.  As  the  girl  advanced,  he 
marked  her  graceful  carriage  and  Spanish  dress. 
Her  steps  were  soon  arrested  by  a  hurried  voice 
calling  in  Spanish:  "Senorita! —  Senorita  Fe- 
lipa  !  The  Senora  commands  return  instantly  ! 
I  can  do  nothing  with  the  Serior." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  313 

"Coming,  Maraquita,"  answered  the  girl,  run 
ning  back.  The  Colonel  softly  stole  forward, 
until  he  reached  the  end  of  the  shaded  path. 
The  splendid  moon  flooded  the  opening  with 
light.  A  low  house  of  adobe  appeared  with  a 
veranda  in  front  on  which  a  dark  young  man  was 
seated,  cutting  viciously  into  a  stick  of  soft 
wood  and  grumbling  :  "Pray  return,  Felipa  ! 
The  Don  takes  nothing  from  the  hands  of  a 
servant  of  the  house.  The  Senorita  must  serve 
him,"  he  sneered. 

"Patience,  Miguel,"  said  the  girl.  "He  knows 
nothing,"  and  taking  a  bowl  from  the  hands  of 
the  maid,  she  approached  two  low  trees  nearest 
the  opening,  between  which  hung  a  skin  —  a 
rude  hammock  on  which  a  sick  man  was  tossing 
restlessly.  The  girl  spoke  to  him.  "Is  it  you, 
Senorita,"  said  the  invalid. 

"Si,  Serior,  and  I  have  brought  your  broth! 
Take  it  for  Felipa  !  Then  you  shall  sleep 
again  !" 

The  girl  slipped  her  hand  beneath  his  head, 
raised  him,  and  encouraged  him  in  gentle  words 
until  he  had  slowly  emptied  the  bowl.  He  lay 
back  for  an  instant,  and  then  in  a  weak  excited 
voice,  said  :  "  I  have  dropped  my  rose  !  It  is  in 
a  paper;  please  find  it  for  me." 


3H  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Here  is  the  paper,  Sefior  —  all  safe." 
He  took  a  folded  paper,  opened  it,  withdrew 
a  small  object,  and  put  it  to  his  lips. 

"Ah,  only  a  dried  rose!"  said  the  girl.  "Is 
it  then  so  great  a  treasure,  this  faded  rose  ?  I 
could  gather  them  fresh  for  you  —  cloth-of- 
gold  roses  —  from  the  veranda.  Is  this  so 
precious  ?" 

"Si,  Senorita." 

"A  gift,  perhaps,  —  a  token  — " 
" Yes,  yes,  a  gift,  —  a  precious  token." 
"And  perhaps  —  perhaps  —  it  may  be  from 
a  lovely  lady  ? " 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Presently,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  the  weak  voice  answered  :  "A  lovely 
little  lady!  With  a  dear  name!" 

"I  may  not  know  her  name,  Senor?" 
"Her  name  is  Dorothea,  Senorita.     It  means, 
the  gift  of  god." 

It  was  Douglas  !  And  the  precious  token 
the  rose  the  little  Duchess  had  dropped  from 
her  window  the  night  of  the  serenade,  and 
confessed  next  morning. 

The  Colonel  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  His 
impulse  was  to  appear  at  once,  —  but  lest  that 
should  be  unsafe,  he  resolved  to  hide  until 
midnight  and  then  try  to  speak  to  Douglas, 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  315 

who  was  to  sleep,  he  gathered,  under  the  trees. 
But  as  the  house  was  preparing  for  rest,  he 
heard  the  unchaining  of  dogs  and  their  impa 
tient  barking,  and  he  hastily  retreated.  He  had 
learned  some  Spanish  years  before  when  on  the 
Pacific  coast  with  his  kinsman,  Admiral  Ap 
Catesby  Jones,  and  he  perceived  that  Douglas 
had  also  acquired  it  —  at  least  in  some  measure. 

When  he  returned  to  the  inn,  he  found  Tom 
waiting  for  him,  and  confided  his  wonderful 
news. 

"We  will  go  early  in  the  morning,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"  And  get  a  taste  of  that  Miguel's  knife,  or  be 
chawed  up  by  them  dogs  ?  No,  no,  Colonel ; 
we  must  take  the  Padre  with  us.  Father  Jose 
will  be  your  man.  I  will  follow  behind  to  attend 
to  the  horses." 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  good  priest  was  inter 
viewed.  He  was  much  interested,  and  applauded 
the  wisdom  of  Tom's  advice.  It  would  have 
been  fatal  to  approach  the  family  without 
ceremony.  As  soon  as  possible,  the  party 
mounted  their  mules,  and  repaired  to  the  front 
of  the  adobe  house  of  Senora  Maria  Ramon 
di  Luna.  The  Senora,  clad  in  black  with  a 
rosary  at  her  girdle  and  some  thin  black  fabric 


316  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

on  her  head,  received  them  on  the  veranda  of  her 
house. 

The  Padre  bestowed  his  blessing,  and  with 
much  ceremony  introduced  the  El  Estranjero. 
Breakfast  was  announced,  and  a  young  girl  and 
young  man  with  a  sullen  face  appeared.  They 
were  presented  as  "Sefior  Miguel  Ramon  di 
Luna"  and  "Senorita  Felipa  di  Luna."  After  an 
excellent  breakfast  of  eggs,  fish,  and  chocolate, 
Felipa  prepared  a  delicate  cigarito  for  each  of 
the  guests,  —  and  not  until  it  was  smoked  did 
the  Padre  unfold  their  errand. 

All  this  time,  the  Colonel  could  see  the  out 
line  of  the  sleeping  figure  under  the  trees,  but 
absolute  self-control  was  demanded  by  the  situ 
ation. 

The  story  elicited  from  the  courteous  Senora 
was  brief.  A  young  man  had  wandered  into 
the  mustard  path  and  fallen  unconscious  on  the 
earth.  There  Miguel  and  Felipa  found  him. 
"  '  It  is  one  of  the  cursed  Americans,' '  -  here  she 
crossed  herself  —  "Miguel  had  said.  'Let  him 
alone,'  —  but  Felipa  had  been  devoue  to  Our 
Lady  of  Mercy  at  her  birth,  and  she  ran  to  her 
mother  for  help.  El  Estranjero  had  been  ill  for 
a  long  month.  Evidently  he  had  begun  to 
recover  from  fever  and  this  was  the  dangerous 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  317 

relapse.  He  could  not  walk.  Would  the  Padre 
see  him  ?" 

Father  Jose  then  told  his  friend's  story,  which 
was  received  with  much  crossing  and  many 
tender  exclamations.  He  thanked  them  for 
their  great  care ;  —  like  the  blessed  Samaritan, 
they  had  found  a  stranger  on  the  roadside  and 
comforted  him.  Now  the  Serior  Americano  had 
come  to  take  him  home,  and  prayed  the  Senora's 
acceptance  of  a  large  sum  for  her  charities. 
Might  they  see  the  Senor  Douglas  Newton  ?  — 
for  that  was  his  name. 

Going  alone,  after  Felipa  had  made  Douglas 
understand  that  a  friend  had  come  to  visit  him, 
the  Colonel  stood  beside  the  hammock  and 
looked  down  upon  the  handsome,  emaciated 
face.  After  the  first  moment  of  intense  surprise 
on  the  part  of  Douglas,  the  two  men  were 
clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 

To  move  Douglas  required  time  and  trouble. 
Tom  was  sent  post-haste  to  San  Francisco, 
about  twenty  miles  distant,  for  the  best  means 
of  transportation,  the  kind  Sefiora  begging  to  be 
allowed  to  keep  her  patient  until  it  arrived. 
When  the  hour  came  for  the  departure  of  her 
guest,  she  commended  him  to  Ave  Maria  Sanctis- 
sima,  adding  gently,  "and  do  not  forget  Maria 


3i8  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Ramon  di  Luna,"  while  from  the  little  attic 
room  in  the  gable  a  small  red  handkerchief 
waved  a  good-bye  from  Felipa.  Miguel  had 
completely  faced  about,  and  none  so  eager  as  he 
to  assist  in  every  way. 

Douglas  was  carried  to  the  Colonel's  quarters 
in  the  Harbour  Hotel,  and  Tom  despatched  to 
inform  the  Alcalde  and  find  Dr.  Wierzbicki. 
The  Alcalde  immediately  had  the  sick  man 
removed  to  his  own  house.  The  Doctor  ex 
amined  him  and  thought  it  possible  he  might 
safely  travel  —  but  to  be  sure,  he  proposed, 
after  a  week's  rest,  an  initial  drive  with  him  into 
the  country,  that  he  might  observe  him  closely 
on  the  way,  and  decide  the  extent  of  his  strength. 

Douglas  had  reason  to  remember  that  drive. 
Pausing  midway  in  a  narrow  stream  for  the 
horse  to  drink,  he  was  attracted  by  a  cluster  of 
pale  pink  flowers  on  the  edge  of  the  water.  He 
looked  at  them  silently  and  for  a  moment  a 
vision  of  Shirley,  with  her  morning  bouquet  de 
corsage  of  hedge  roses,  hovered  over  the  spot. 
Before  he  recalled  himself,  he  had  leaped  on  the 
bank  —  and  was  back,  half  fainting,  with  the 
flowers  in  his  hand;  roots  and  all  coming  up 
from  the  soft  mud.  "I  think  you  can  travel," 
said  the  Doctor,  drily.  "That  is  a  very  beauti- 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  319 

ful  flower  —  Ah  !  what  is  this  tangled  in  the 
roots?  Why  —  Mr.  Newton!"  examining  it 
closely,  "  it  is  a  little  lump  of  gold !  An  omen, 
my  dear  sir,  an  omen." 

It  was  decided,  however,  that  the  Panama 
route  was  out  of  the  question.  Douglas  was 
too  weak  for  the  hardship  involved  in  that 
route.  He  must  return  by  steamer  around  the 
Horn,  and  would  reach  home  in  the  autumn. 
There  was  no  crowd  on  the  home-coming  ships, 
and  the  journey  could  be  made  rapidly  and  in 
comfort. 

"You  must  help  me  through,  Tom,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "Mr.  Newton  will  need  careful  watch 
ing.  He  is  imprudent.  He  had  a  bad  sinking 
spell  after  that  drive  with  the  Doctor." 

Tom  readily  agreed,  but  when  the  steamer 
reached  Panama,  Douglas  had  been  wonder 
fully  strengthened  and  refreshed,  and  Tom 
announced  his  wish  to  return  to  San  Francisco. 

"And  not  go  home  to  see  your  wife  and  chil 
dren  ?"  said  the  Colonel,  sternly.  "Who  do 
you  suppose  has  been  taking  care  of  them  since 
you  left  them  ?" 

"Well,  Cunnel,"  said  Tom,  as  he  shifted  rest 
lessly  from  one  foot  to  another,  "I've  no  call  to 
reckon  about  it !  I  know  Dr.  Berkeley  and 


320  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Col.  Jones  of  old  !  It  is  jus'  this-a-way.  I  haven't 
made  my  pile  yet,  an'  I  don't  want  to  be  po'- 
white-folks  no  mo'  in  ole  Virginia.  Yes,  suh ;  I 
know  you  have  been  lib'ral,  but  to  tell  the  truth 
I  feel  skittish  'bout  the  ole  ooman.  She  might 
fling  ha'sh  langwidge  at  me  ergin,  an'  I'm 
loath  to  tempt  her !  It's  a  sin,  suh !  An* 
Stevens  might  not  take  to  me,  seein'  he's  heard 
I'm  a  bad  character.  No,  suh  !  Let  me  make 
my  pile  —  an'  when  I  come  home,  maybe  I'll 
drive  up  in  my  coach  an'  fo'." 

He  sent  a  present  to  his  "ole  ooman,"  and  the 
Colonel  was  obliged  to  be  content.  He  had  his 
own  doubt  of  Tom's  welcome. 

Douglas  rapidly  recuperated  in  the  salt  air. 
The  two  men  grew  very  close  to  each  other  dur 
ing  the  long  voyage,  talking  intimately  and 
earnestly  on  many  subjects,  but  making  no  al 
lusion  to  Shirley.  As  far  as  the  Colonel  knew, 
Douglas  no  longer  thought  of  her.  All  that  was 
to  be  settled  between  themselves.  Shirley  had 
told  him  that  her  heart  was  breaking  for  Doug 
las  ;  he  had  brought  him  back  to  her !  As  to 
himself  —  Ah  !  Far  away,  far  away  had  fled 
the  angel  of  Hope  from  him  !  He  could  not 
sufficiently  admire  the  noble  self-ab  legation  of 
Douglas,  his  keen  sense  of  honour,  his  complete 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  321 

atonement  for  the  wrong  done  by  his  father, 
the  high  loyal  position  he  had  taken  to  protect 
that  father  from  criticism  or  comment. 

Now  about  the  young  fellow's  future !  This 
became  the  Colonel's  dearest  interest. 

One  day  he  said  to  him  :  "Do  you  know, 
Douglas,  I  am  beginning  to  wonder  what  you 
are  going  to  do  for  me  ?  I  have  been  at  some 
trouble — " 

"Oh,  Colonel,  have  pity  !  I  think  of  nothing 
else !  I  have  nothing  to  give  but  myself. 
Really  I  can  do  nothing  unless  you  will  let  me 
belong  to  you." 

"  Precisely — that  is  my  own  thought.  Catesby 
is  a  fine  place  going  to  ruin  for  want  of  a  master. 
I  shall  never  live  there.  I  expect  to  go  on  an 
other  long  journey  soon.  My  travels  have  just 
commenced.  How  does  it  strike  you  to  live  there 
yourself  with  Harry  and  manage  the  plantation  ? 
It  will  be  full  repayment  for  all  I  have  done,  if 
you  will.  You  and  Harry  could  practise  your 
profession,  move  over  your  horses  and  personal 
servants." 

"And  train  'the  gadding  vine'  ?  Gladly,"  said 
Douglas.  "But  what  would  old  Uncle  Abram 
say  ?  However,  I  learned  under  Caleb  to  know 
my  place  —  and  keep  it !" 


322  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"Abram  will  adore  you,"  said  the  Colonel, — 
"and  as  to  Aunt  Chloe !  she  is  just  the 
motherly  nurse  to  ruin  a  fellow,"  and  so  the 
matter  was  finally  settled. 

Despite  Harry's  efforts  to  the  contrary,  news 
of  the  home-coming  rapidly  circulated  through 
the  neighbourhood.  A  crowd  of  men  and  boys, 
black  and  white,  thronged  Berkeley  Station  on 
the  lookout  for  the  northern  train.  Miss  Betty 
Oliver,  standing  in  her  doorway,  heard  the 
varied  voices,  sharp  with  excitement,  and  car 
ried  away  by  her  own,  actually  waved  a  wel 
come  with  an  intimate  garment  she  had  just 
"whipped  off  the  line." 

"Here  they  come."  "There's  the  Colonel." 
"There's  Newton!  What's  left  of  him!" 
Tom  Blackwell,  the  Pages,  the  Carringtons  — 
all  the  boys  are  there.  "Dar  he  is  !"  "I  seed 
Mm  fust !"  "Gawd  A'mighty,  ain'  he  fall  off  !" 
"Is  you  bin  sick,  Marse  Douglas  ?"  "Git  out 
de  way  —  who  you  crowdin' ?"  "Here  me, 
Marse  Jeems,  me  an'  Primrose."  "Git  out  de 
way  dar  an'  let  de  Doctor  pass  !"  "I  haven't 
brought  home  any  gold,  boys,"  cries  Douglas. 
"Don't  want  it!"  "Don't  need  it."  "We've 
got  you  back,  thank  God."  "Make  room  there 
for  the  Doctor  to  pass." 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  323 

"Welcome  home,  my  boy,"  says  the  Doctor, 
with  a  keen  look  at  Douglas.  "We'll  soon  fix 
you  up.  Ah,  James  !  how  we've  missed  you  ! 
I've  brought  the  carriage,  and  you  must  come 
home  with  me.  Ah,  Harry !  So  you  went  to 
New  York  to  meet  'em,  hey  ?  Couldn't  let  'em 
give  you  the  slip  this  time." 

But  Douglas  was  exhausted  and  must  get  on 
to  the  Cross  Roads  with  Harry.  They  would 
both  go  soon  to  Berkeley  Castle. 

"I  pass  Beechwood  as  I  come  on  down," 
chuckled  Sandy.  "He!  he!  All  de  cows  was 
in  de  corn  !  An'  dey  was  busy,  too !  I  come 
along  an'  nuwer  say  nothin' !" 

'  Then  you  can  hurry  right  back  and  drive 
them  out,  or  tell  somebody  they  are  there,"  said 
Douglas. 

"Come  along  with  us,  boys  —  all  of  you," 
said  Harry.  "We'll  put  Douglas  to  bed  with 
a  hot  brick  at  his  feet,  and,  by  George,  we'll  have 
a  good  old  time.  Anything  to  eat  and  drink  at 
Cross  Roads,  Caleb  ?" 

"Dilsey  is  bilin'  a  ham  and  roastin'  the  big 
gest  gobbler  in  the  flock  !  You  lef  plenty  to 
drink,  Marse  Harry,  an'  you  knows  whar  to 
find  it." 

The  Colonel  had  somewhat  dreaded  the  home- 


324  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

coming,  and  had  wondered  how  he  could  meet 
Shirley  calmly.  To  his  surprise  and  delight, 
he  felt  no  agitation  whatever.  That  was  all 
over !  He  had  shut  the  gate  behind  him  and 
resolved  never  to  look  back.  He  felt  exultant 
that  he  could  have  obtained  so  complete  a 
mastery  over  himself  ! 
We  shall  see  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WHEN  Harry  found  Douglas  sufficiently  rested, 
he  proposed  they  should  pay  their  respects  to  the 
ladies  at  Berkeley  Castle,  who  had  just  returned 
from  their  annual  visit  to  the  mountains  —  not, 
however,  to  the  White  Sulphur.  Nobody  except 
the  Colonel  and  Anne  knew  of  the  attachment 
of  Douglas  to  Shirley  --  and  whether  it  had  sur 
vived  the  long  separation  the  Colonel  was  in 
doubt.  Douglas  had  not  the  faintest  intention 
of  ever  approaching  Shirley.  He  was  now  a  poor 
man,  and  although  Dr.  Berkeley  had  met  him 
with  every  possible  expression  of  affection,  much 
of  it  may  have  been  from  pity. 

The  dinner  party,  however,  was  cheerful. 
Mrs.  Berkeley  was  all  smiles  and  kindness ; 
Dorothea  brave  in  new  ribbons  and  ecstatic  in  her 
complete  possession  of  her  adored  friend.  Miss 
Prissy  was  never  cleverer  or  kinder ;  the  Doctor 
affability  itself.  Shirley,  however,  was  silent, 
and  shook  her  head  when  invited  to  sing.  She 
was  "out  of  practice — a  little  hoarse  from  the 
mountain  air — to-morrow,  please."  They  talked 

325 


326  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

over  the  wonderful  new  land — its  peculiarities, 
its  promises. 

At  last  good  nights  were  in  order.  "Early 
hours  for  our  invalid,"  said  the  Doctor,  and  the 
party  separated  for  the  night. 

"Rock  me  a  little  while,  please,  Shirley," 
Dorothea  begged.  "I'm  not  a  bit  sleepy. 
It's  such  a  hot  night ;  let's  go  out  on  the  porch." 

On  the  veranda  overlooking  the  garden,  Shir 
ley  took  the  tired  little  girl  in  her  arms.  The 
long-limbed  child  managed  to  maintain  her  place 
in  her  sister's  lap  by  clasping  her  arms  around 
her  waist.  "Don't  make  her  go  to  bed  yet, 
Milly,"  Shirley  entreated.  "She  is  so  warm! 
Let  her  stay  awhile  in  the  cool  air.  And  it  is 
so  lovely  here  in  the  moonlight." 

To  her  surprise,  Douglas  appeared  from  the 
garden,  threw  away  the  remnant  of  a  cigar,  and 
drew  up  a  chair  beside  them,  "Just  for  a  moment," 
he  said.  "I  heard  the  Doctor  order  early  hours 
for  everybody."  He  sat  in  silence  for  some 
minutes,  looking  out  upon  the  garden  in  the  soft 
light. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  night?"  he  said. 
"A  moon  nearly  full  —  and  the  star  'hallowed 
by  lutes  in  Lesbos'  close  by." 

"  Is  that  an  importation  from  the  tropics  — 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  327 

or  is  it  original  ?"  Shirley  asked,  as  she  gently 
rocked  her  little  sister. 

"Original  ?  Oh,  no  !  I  wish  it  were.  It  is  a 
trifle  that  somehow  clings  to  me.  Never  read  it  ? 
Well,  I  must  send  it  to  you.  I  don't  know  that  I 
can  lay  my  hand  upon  it  right  away,  —  all  my 
belongings  are  in  such  disorder, — but  perhaps 
I  can  copy  from  memory.  I  can  at  least  try." 

"Why  not  repeat  it  now  for  Dolly  and  me.  Are 
you  too  much  fatigued  ?  Dolly  adores  poetry, 
you  know.  You  aren't  asleep,  are  you,  dear  ? " 

Douglas  hesitated.  "Really!  Do  you  want 
it  really  ?  You  are  sure  ?  I  don't  know  that 
you  would  care  for  it.  It  is  a  favourite  of  mine, 
but  hardly  worth  your  hearing.  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Quite  sure!  It  sounds  lovely  —  'lutes  in 
Lesbos ' !  One  can  almost  hear  the  harps  of  the 
^Eolians." 

"Well,  I'll  spare  you  part  of  the  poet's  rhap 
sodies.  You  see  he  becomes  fascinated  with  a 
pair  of  beautiful  eyes.  He  proceeds  to  speculate 
upon  their  source  :  — 

"Was  it  from  yon  lone  orb  that  ever  by 
The  quiet  moon,  like  Hope  on  Patience,  hovers ; 
The  star  to  which  hath  sped  so  many  a  sigh 
Since  lutes  in  Lesbos  hallowed  it  to  lovers, 

Was  that  your  fount,  sweet  eyes  ?" 


328  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

Douglas  hesitated,  doubting  the  propriety  of 
repeating  the  ensuing  verses.  Presently  Shirley 
said  :  "That  is  charming.  The  lady  answered  ?" 
"  It  appears  she  was  not  expected  to  answer,  or 
the  poet  knew  perhaps  what  she  would  say,  for  he 
continues,  —  let  me  see,"  steadying  his  voice  :  — 

"  Ye  sibyl  books,  in  which  the  truths  foretold 
Inspire  the  heart,  your  dreaming  priest,  with  gladness, 
Bright  alchemists  that  turn  to  thoughts  of  gold 
The  leaden  cares  ye  steal  away  from  sadness, 

Teach  only  mf,  sweet  eyes  !  " 

Another  pause  —  then  in  lower  tones  :  — 

"  Hush  !     When  I  ask  ye  how  at  length  to  gain 
The  cell  where  love  the  sleeper  yet  lies  hidden, 
Loose  not  those  arch  lips  from  their  rosy  chain ; 
Be  every  answer  save  your  own  forbidden  — 

Feelings  are  words  for  eyes  !" 

Dorothea,  lying  close  to  her  sister's  bosom, 
perceived  a  gentle,  unheard  sigh.  Disengaging 
herself  from  her  sister's  arms,  she  looked  earnestly 
into  her  face.  "Now,  Douglas,  you  are  just  like 
you  used  to  be  !  You're  going  to  make  Shirley 
cry,  like  you  did  the  last  time  you  were  here," 
she  said,  sitting  up  and  turning  reproachful  eyes 
towards  him.  "I  haven't  forgotten." 

"Hush,  Dolly  !     Lie  still— don't  talk." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  329 

"Yes,  he  did  !     I  heard  you  say — " 

"HusH,  Dorothea  !  Mammy  !  This  is  Dolly's 
bedtime.  Come  for  her,  please." 

"'Tisn't  anything  wrong  I'm  going  to  tell," 
said  the  child,  aggrieved  and  anxious  to  be  under 
stood.  "  Tisn't  anything  about  Mr.  Blake." 

"Oh,  Dolly,  Dolly!  Stop  talking  — good 
night." 

But  Dorothea  felt  she  was  in  the  right  —  if 
only  she  had  a  chance  to  prove  it !  Milly  came 
in  at  the  moment,  and  she  begged,  "  Pm  so  tired  ! 
carry  me,  Mammy  ! " 

"Tote  you? --you  great  big  girl!  If  you 
was  at  the  Springs,  you'd  be  dancin'  this  minit ! 
Just  tote  yose'f  on  yo  own  two  footses  !  Come 
along  an'  wash  an'  go  to  bed." 

"Kiss  me  good  night,  then,  Shirley!  You 
know  you  cried  that  night  long  time  ago.  I 
haven't  forgotten  !  You  just  cried  an'  cried, 
and  said,  'Oh,  Douglas,  Douglas /'  And  that's 
why  I  know  he  made  you." 

Our  dear  masculine  fellow-traveller  in  this  vale 
of  tears  is  prone  to  declare  that  he  is  apt  to 
stumble  upon  his  ultimate  hour  by  accident.  He 
has  loved  his  ladye  fayre,  —  oh,  yes,  no  doubt 
about  that,  —  and  he  intended  some  day  to  tell 
her  so, — but  some  unforeseen  circumstance  had 


330  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

brought  the  denouement  when  he  had  least  ex 
pected  it  and  had  really  at  the  time  no  such  inten 
tion  whatever.  Of  course  it  is  the  fortunate  case 
that  is  so  frankly  revealed.  Such  spontaneous 
avowals  bursting  forth  malgre  lui  are  pretty  apt 
to  be  successful.  On  this  occasion  Douglas  was 
silent.  He  had  not  intended  to  say  one  word  to 
Shirley  to  distress  her,  as  he  felt  he  had  no  right 
to  —  as  he  fully  believed  an  avowal  of  his  love 
would  do  —  and  yet !  He  sat  silent,  apparently 
intensely  interested  in  watching  the  moon  as 
it  slowly  passed  behind  a  little  fugitive  cloud. 
Presently  it  turned  a  corner  of  the  cloud  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

Moonlight  has  been  known  to  exert  a  malign 
power  over  human  beings,  but  on  this  occasion 
the  influence  was  distinctly  clarifying.  Shirley's 
face  was  turned  upward,  for  she  too  felt  the  need 
of  watching  the  manoeuvres  of  the  little  cloud. 
Suddenly  some  mysterious  message,  coming  they 
knew  not  whence,  seemed  to  be  borne  on  the 
night  wind  to  both  of  them.  A  great  light  all  at 
once  broke  into  their  benighted  souls.  All  at 
once  the  mists  rolled  away,  and  they  saw  and 
understood.  Douglas  rose  and  stood  before  her. 
"Shirley,"  he  said,  bending  to  look  into  her 
eyes.  "Shirley  !  Have  you  no  word  for  me  ?" 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  331 

He  could  say  no  more.  There  was  no  need  for 
more.  The  words  were  few  and  brokenly  uttered, 
but  the  passionate  eyes  told  the  story.  Shir 
ley  met  the  ardent  eyes  sincerely.  She  had  no 
need  to  question  her  own  heart.  She  had  known 
it  all  the  time.  Now  she  knew  his  !  "  It  was  for 
you  and  not  for  Anne  that  he  sang  that  night," 
whispered  the  wind.  "It  was  for  you  that  she 
sorrowed.  Her  tears  were  for  you"  was  the  mes 
sage  to  Douglas. 

He  had  no  need  to  ask  again.  Putting  her 
hand  in  his,  she  whispered  with  her  own  rare 
smile  :  — 

"  Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear !  " 

When  Shirley  retired  to  her  room  that  night, 
she  looked  long  at  the  little  night-gowned  figure 
on  her  bed,  and  finally  stooped  and  kissed  the 
small  sunburned  face.  "The  darling  !  Cousin 
James's  little  Duchess  !  May  God  bless  her,  and 
spare  her  for  just  such  happiness  as  mine." 

For  Douglas,  sleep  was  out  of  the  question. 
He  returned  to  the  garden,  intending  to  seek  his 
old  place  for  contemplation  under  the  willows 
beyond  the  wall,  but  perceiving  a  light  in  the 
Colonel's  window,  he  looked  in  and  begged  for 
a  few  minutes.  "I  come  to  you  first,  my  dear 


332  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Colonel,  in  my  great  happiness  !  I  owe  it  all  to 
you  !  A  man  who  has  never  loved  cannot  meas 
ure  the  height  and  depth  of  the  flood  that  over 
whelms  me  !  God  knows  I  have  not  deserved  it  ! 
Shirley  has  promised  to  be  my  wife." 

The  Colonel  wrung  his  hand  silently  —  and 
found  a  few  murmured  words  of  congratulation. 
He  had  expected  this  —  had  worked  to  bring  it 
about  —  and  yet  — 

"We  did  not  forget  you  in  our  supreme  hour, 
dear  Colonel !  Shirley  spoke  of  you  so  tenderly  ! 
You  are  to  belong  to  us  and  we  to  you  —  re 
member  that;  you  are  to  live  at  Catesby  and 
let  us  work  for  you  and  take  care  of  you." 

"And  leave  my  little  Duchess  !  That  would 
never  do  !  Besides,  I  shall  not  be  here.  I  am 
going  on  another  journey,  you  know.  But  we 
will  have  the  Doctor  down  upon  us  !  I  must  say 
good  night  and  God  bless  you  —  and  drive  you 
off  to  bed." 

He  shut  his  door  and  extinguished  his  light  and 
in  the  darkness  clasped  his  upraised  hands  — 
a  silent  invocation  for  strength.  He  had  borne 
the  spectacle  of  Shirley's  tears  —  of  her  sorrow. 
He  had  borne  his  own;  but  now  he  "tasted  the 
bitterness  of  looking  into  happiness  through 
another  man's  eyes." 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  333 

He  was  not  the  man  to  indulge  in  weak  self-pity. 
Evidently  it  was  ordained  that  he  should  suffer 
loss  and  defeat.  So  be  it !  Why  should  he  wish 
for  happiness  purchased  at  the  expense  of  an 
other  ?  True,  he  had  sowed,  and  another 
had  reaped.  He  had  fostered  and  cherished 
and  loved,  and  served  through  the  long  years  — 
another  had  risen  at  the  harvest  time  and  gath 
ered  to  his  bosom  the  golden  sheaves.  But  of 
these  things  he  would  think  no  more.  With 
the  rising  of  the  next  ^sun  he  would  take  up  his 
life  again. 

First,  he  must  finish  and  send  off  his  book. 
Shirley  must  have  a  suitable  dotarium.  Then  when 
she  was  safely  in  her  new  home,  —  and  there  was 
much  to  be  done  to  fit  that  home  for  her,  —  he 
would  go  North,  see  and  consult  his  old  friend  Mr. 
Bancroft,  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  New  York 
publishers,  and  commence  work  in  his  new  pro 
fession.  If  only  it  were  possible  for  him  to  leave 
at  once  !  But  no ;  that  would  be  a  poor  return 
for  the  heavenly  kindness  of  the  Berkeleys  — 
for  his  little  Dorothea's  love  —  for  Shirley's 
trust.  He  must  hasten  the  book  —  there  was 
really  little  more  to  do  to  it  —  and  demand  pay 
ment  immediately  upon  its  acceptance.  Of  the 
latter  he  had  not  a  shadow  of  doubt.  Only  — 


334  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

yes,  he  remembered,  —  there  was  that  anachro 
nism  in  the  third  chapter  to  be  corrected,  —  and 
the  final  pages  of  the  denouement  did  not  run 
smoothly,  —  and  oh  !  —  why,  to  be  sure,  there  was 
that  serious  discrepancy  in  time  in  the  eighth 
chapter  —  events  crowded  into  a  week  when  a 
month  would  have  been  too  short,  —  and  light 
ing  his  candles,  long  past  midnight,  he  found  the 
keys  to  his  secretary,  drew  forth  the  precious 
manuscript  from  which  he  hoped  so  much,  and 
plunged  into  his  corrections.  Thus,  wounded, 
defeated  as  he  was,  he  found,  as  many  another 
poor  writer  has  found,  as  many  will  find  to  the 
end  of  time,  a  little  window  in  the  darkened 
chamber  of  his  pain  opened  by  two  angels.  To 
gether  they  entered,  —  hand  in  hand,  —  and  the 
name  of  the  one  was  "  Imagination  "  and  the  name 
of  the  other  was  "Work"  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  is  needless  to  attempt  to  describe  the  inter 
view  in  the  study  next  morning.  Everything 
that  could  be  said,  —  generous,  cordial,  welcom 
ing, —  the  Doctor  said  to  Douglas  Newton  in  re 
sponse  to  the  young  man's  pathetic  expression  of 
his  sense  of  unworthiness.  'You  say  she  has 
promised  you,  —  my  little  girl  !  She  will  keep  her 
promise!  She  is  like  her  mother!"  Going  to 
the  door,  he  called,  "Shirley,  Shirley,  you  bag 
gage,  where  are  you  ?" 

"Here,  Papa,"  was  answered  from  the  lawn 
immediately  under  the  window.  She  had  been 
walking  among  the  roses  —  stooping  finally  to 
select  a  "red,  red  rose"  and  pin  it  in  her  bosom. 
"What  is  it,  Papa  ?  Ah,  Douglas  !  You  told 
me  you  were  going." 

"Well,  he  hasn't  gone  !  Look,  at  him  !  Is  that 
your  idea  of  a  man  to  take  you  away  from  your 
old  father  ?  What  do  you  see  in  him  ?" 

"Not  half  as  much  as  I  see  in  you,  Papa 
darling." 

"  Then  why  is  he  chosen  from  the  Gordons  and 
Carringtons  and  all  the  rest  ?" 

335 


336  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"He  isn't.  He  did  the  choosing !  And  I 
thought  we  might  improve  him  !  He  needs  it ! 
He  really  does  need  you,  Papa  dear  !  Think  of 
the  dreadful  mistakes  he  makes  in  pronuncia 
tion,"  and  she  added  with  a  quivering  smile, 
"And  he  can  sing  a  good  song  —  and  recites  — 
oh,  very  well  indeed  ! " 

The  Doctor  essayed  to  speak,  failed,  cleared 
his  throat  —  and  finally  putting  her  hand  into 
her  lover's  hand,  pushed  them  gently  out  of  the 
room  and  shut  the  door.  Sinking  into  his  arm 
chair,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  for  a  long 
time.  Those  old  Virginians  rarely  showed  deep 
emotion.  Dignity  forbade  an  exhibition  of  feel 
ing  before  witnesses.  Ringing  his  bell,  he  or 
dered  Pizarro  to  request  the  Colonel  to  come  to 
him  in  the  study,  from  which  neither  emerged 
until  after  Douglas  left,  driven  to  the  depot  by 
Shirley  in  the  little  cart  with  Primrose ;  Douglas 
having  decided  to  go  immediately  to  Richmond. 

"It  seems,  James,"  said  the  Doctor,  as  the 
Colonel  entered,  "that  we  have  been  going  along 
here  with  our  eyes  shut.  I  was  just  thinking 
how  fortunate  I  am  to  have  brought  Shirley 
heart-whole  from  the  Springs,  when  here  comes 
Douglas  Newton  and  tells  me  she  has  promised  to 
marry  him  !  I  could  hardly  have  had  a  more 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  337 

unpleasant  piece  of  information.  I  feel  I  had  a 
right  to  expect  a  better  match  for  her.  This 
accounts  for  Shirley's  loss  of  interest  in  society 
and  her  sadness  all  summer.  Are  you  not 
feeling  well,  James  ?  You  are  very  pale ;  —  any 
chill,  eh  ? " 

"Not  at  all!  I'm  all  right.  Go  ahead, 
Charley  !  This  is  news  indeed." 

"  It  is  too  late  to  consider  my  own  feeling  in  the 
matter,  but,  you  see,  I  am  considerably  em 
barrassed  just  now  for  ready  money  —  and  I  am 
unalterably  opposed  to  long  engagements.  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  insist  upon  one,  however, 
—  at  least  until  next  year's  crops  are  harvested." 

"No,  no,  Charley  !  That  will  never  do  !"  said 
the  Colonel,  earnestly.  "Nothing  must  interfere 
with  —  nothing  must  delay  Shirley's  —  unfortu 
nately  I  am  not  very  well  fixed  myself  just  now 
or  I  could  help  materially.  I  can  at  least  go  on  a 
bond  with  you,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  soon  have  a 
large  sum  from  my  book.  I  must  hurry  it  off 
to  the  publishers." 

"  If  I  had  not  been  such  a  blind  fool,"  said  the 
Doctor,  gloomily,  "I  might  have  prevented 
Shirley's  engagement.  I  could  have  taken  her 
abroad.  She  is  a  splendid  girl,  and  could  have 
graced  a  palace  !  Yes,  I  know  'Douglas  is  a  fine 


338  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

fellow.'  Of  course  he's  a  fine  fellow  !  Nobody 
can  deny  that.  But  what  becomes  of  our  in 
herited  belief  that  blood  will  tell?" 

"And  so  it  will  —  always,"  said  the  Colonel, 
firmly.  "Douglas  Newton  proves  it.  One  un 
fortunate  mistake  can  never  discrown  a  fine  old 
family.  It  only  throws  into  higher  relief  some 
superb  action  like  this  of  Douglas.  Judge 
Watkins  told  me  he  did  not  hesitate  a  moment, 
and  really  made  him  feel  ashamed  of  the  argu 
ments  he  felt  should  be  urged  against  hasty 
action.  Blood  does  tell !  Many  a  man  wouldn't 
condone  a  fraud,  but  you  see  Douglas  couldn't. 
Blood  does  tell." 

.  The  Doctor  sighed.  "God  grant  it !  One 
thing  is  certain,  —  it  never  tells  at  the  Bank. 
It  never  lifts  a  mortgage  or  discounts  a  note  or 
cancels  a  security.  It's  a  mighty  poor  substitute 
for  competent  fortune  in  this  world  of  ours." 

The  Colonel  was  silent,  and  the  Doctor  con 
tinued,  as  he  paced  the  floor  impatiently  :  "A 
country  doctor  has  a  hard  road  to  travel  !  He 
is  compelled  to  neglect  his  plantation,  and  he 
must  practise  on  all  the  poor  neighbours.  How 
can  he  ever  make  money  ?  He  never  thinks  of 
such  a  possibility.  Of  course,  I  could  postpone 
the  marriage,  distress  Shirley,  distress  her 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  339 

mother.  Tears  at  home !  No  —  no !  I  am 
absolutely  opposed  to  long  engagements,  but 
it  is  hard  that  I  cannot  establish  her  as  she 
deserves.  At  all  events,  I  must  have  some 
ready  money  for  her  —  manage  it  somehow." 
The  Doctor's  office  was  at  the  end  of  the  long 
house,  one  window  opening  pleasantly  upon  the 
front  lawn  and  the  other  shaded  by  an  apple 
tree.  Dorothea's  summer  desk  was  in  this 
tree,  and  a  seat  for  herself  and  board  on  which 
to  rest  her  book  had  been  provided  for  her  con 
venience.  She  had  climbed  into  this  tree  with 
her  geography  in  her  hand  this  morning  to  begin 
her  lessons,  now  that  her  teacher  had  returned, 
and  was  absently  attempting,  with  much  repeti 
tion,  to  bound  the  kingdom  of  France ;  her 
attention  sorely  divided  by  Gabriella's  futile 
attempts  to  join  her,  and  her  own  eager 
interest  in  the  preparations  going  on  under  the 
trees  at  the  other  end  of  the  house  for  breaking 
into  small  cubes  the  pyramidal  loaves  of  sugar. 
Her  attention  had  been  arrested  when  she  per 
ceived,  from  the  tones  of  her  father's  voice,  that 
he  was  annoyed.  She  understood  little  of  his 
agitated,  fragmentary  talk,  as  he  paced  the 
narrow  round  of  his  room,  but  from  that  little 
she  presently  perceived  he  was  in  some  great 


340  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

trouble.  The  Colonel  had  not  tried  to  comfort 
him  —  perhaps  he,  too,  was  heartbroken.  The 
last  sentence  reached  her  distinctly.  Evidently 
something  dreadful  had  happened  which  money 
would  mend.  She  slipped  down  from  her  arbo 
real  seat,  ran  into  her  room,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
knocked  at  her  father's  door. 

"Ah  !   here   is  our  little  Duchess,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "and  we  are  too  busy  to  talk  to  her  just 


now." 


"Oh,  but  I  must  come  in,  Cousin  James  ! 
Papa  always  has  let  me  help  him,  ever  since 
you've  been  away.  I've  brought  him  some 
thing  ! " 

She  put  a  little  box  in  her  father's  hands.  It 
contained  a  string  of  coral,  a  little  carnelian 
heart  on  a  tiny  chain,  a  gold  bangle,  and  her 
amber  beads. 

"I  can't  look  at  these  now,  Dorothea,"  he 
said  gravely.  "Run  along  to  your  Mother. 
Don't  come  in  again.  I  am  busy." 

"But,  Papa  !  You  can  sell  the  things  and  get 
money  for  Shirley.  They  are  worth  —  oh  — 
a  great  deal  of  money.  They  are  my  four  last 
birthday's  —  my  birthday  presents  from  God 
mother  Ponsonby.  I  did  have  two  rings,  but 
I  lost  one,"  and  she  drew  a  little  turquoise 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  341 

from  her  finger  and  proudly  added  it  to  the 
rest. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  The 
Colonel  clasped  her  to  his  bosom  silently,  and  she 
saw  a  tear  in  his  eye.  "A  little  child  leads  us, 
Charley,"  he  said.  "  See !  She  has  brought 
the  whole  of  her  fortune !  We  mustn't  grudge 
ours  !  Our  Shirley"  —  and  here  his  voice  trem 
bled —  "our  beautiful  Shirley  is  to  be  happy 
at  all  risks.  She  must  marry  the  man  she 
loves." 

The  Doctor  nodded ;  for  a  moment  he  could 
not  speak.  Giving  her  back  her  little  box,  he 
brushed  his  handkerchief  across  his  eyes  and 
turned  to  his  book-shelves.  The  Colonel  took 
her  in  his  arms,  —  she  was  a  very  small  child,  — 
carried  her  to  the  window,  and  explained  that 
there  would  be  no  need  for  her  sacrifice,  —  that  all 
would  be  arranged  for  Shirley.  The  sound  of 
wheels  and  girlish  laughter  reached  them  from 
the  avenue.  Shirley  was  driving  her  lover  along 
"the  road  to  Paradise"  —  on  his  first  errand  of 
love  ! 

Douglas  did  not  reveal  the  object  of  that 
errand.  He  had  in  his  pocket  the  small  lump 
of  pure  virgin  gold  which  he  had  found  the  last 
day  of  his  stay  in  California,  when  he  had  driven 


342  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

with  Dr.  Wierzbicki  into  the  country  "to  test 
his  strength."  "An  omen,"  the  doctor  had 
said.  He  was  taking  it  to  a  jeweller  to  be  made 
into  a  ring  for  Shirley.  A  ring  of  gems  was 
never  chosen  in  those  days  —  gems  had  no 
sentiment;  but  the  circle  had  no  beginning, 
no  end.  Besides,  a  band  of  gold  could  be 
engraved  within  —  and  Douglas  chose  that  the 
ring  for  Shirley  should  have  pressed  the  finger 
of  no  woman,  been  offered  for  sale  to  no  man, 
but  come  direct  from  the  hand  of  the  Creator  to 
her.  The  initials  of  the  two  were  to  be  fol 
lowed  by  the  one  word,  "Pledge." 

Shirley's  first  duty  was  to  announce  her  en 
gagement  to  her  godmother  and  ask  for  her 
blessing.  A  few  days  later,  old  Jacob  appeared 
on  horseback. —  a  less  responsible  messenger 
could  not  be  trusted  —  with  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Berkeley.  From  her  window  Shirley  had  seen 
his  coming,  with  a  beating  heart  —  she  well 
knew  the  old  lady  —  and  was  relieved  at  find 
ing  that  the  message  was  for  her  father.  "Poor 
dear,"  thought  Shirley ;  "  I  hope  I  haven't  given 
her  a  turn  !  She  has  sent  for  Papa,  I'm  afraid." 

About  "the  turn"  there  could  be  no  doubt  — 
not  the  least.  In  agitated,  trembling  characters, 
Mrs.  Ponsonby  had  written:  — 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  343 

MY  DEAR  CHARLES, 

I  am  astounded  by  the  news  that  the  daughter  of  Charles 
Carter  Berkeley  and  Mary  Randolph  Blair  is  to  be  given 
in  marriage  to  the  son  of  Henry  Newton.  The  child  must 
be  crazy  !  And  so  must  you  be,  my  dear  Charles,  to  permit 
such  a  mesalliance. 

Your  inconsolable  cousin, 

ELIZABETH  PONSONBY. 

The  Doctor  perceived  that  this  was  no  time 
for  trifling,  cajoling,  or  persuading.  In  his 
firm  hand,  he  wrote  a  reply  that  petrified,  for 
a  time,  the  irate  old  aristocrat :  — 

MY  DEAR  COUSIN  ELIZABETH, 

You  have  often  showed  me  the  diamond  necklace  you 
wore  when  you  were  presented  at  Court,  and  called  my 
attention  to  a  flaw  in  one  of  the  stones.  You  never  re 
moved  that  stone  from  your  chain,  nor  did  the  fact  that 
one  of  the  gems  contained  a  blemish  diminish  your  appre 
ciation  of  the  others. 

Your  respectful  and  consoled  cousin, 

CHARLES   BERKELEY. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"I  THINK,  Mary,"  said  Miss  Prissy,  a  few 
days  after  the  engagement  had  been  made  known 
to  her,  "the  best  thing  for  me  to  do  will  be  to 
go  at  once  to  Richmond,  stay  a  week  or  two 
with  Mary  James,  and  get  whatever  Shirley  will 
need.  Of  course  she  will  wear  your  veil,  laces, 
and  pearls.  I  can  select  samples  at  Price's  to 
be  sent  to  you,  and  engage  Mrs.  McComas  for 
her  frocks,  and  I  should  like  to  see  Mme.  Viglini's 
bonnets  before  they  are  all  picked  over.  If 
there's  one  thing  I  understand,  it's  choosing 
linen  !  I  never  even  ask  the  price  until  I  draw 
a  thread  clear  across  the  width,  and  that's  the 
only  way  you  can  tell  whether  it  is  all  pure  flax. 
Then  there's  the  white  satin.  If  you  don't  want 
it  to  yellow,  it  must  be  a  clear  salt-white,  not 
a  bit  on  the  cream.  Betty  Oliver  has  a  cousin 
in  Richmond  who  works  with  a  seamstress,  and 
Betty  thinks  she  will  be  glad  to  come  and  stay 
until  all  the  sewing  is  done.  I  could  bring  her, 
and  we  could  go  to  work  at  once.  They've 
given  us  short  notice,  but  Elvira  and  Mildred 
and  all  the  girls  will  help." 

344 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  345 

So  early  one  crisp  morning  Miss  Prissy  was 
driven  by  the  Colonel  to  the  depot,  with  a  little 
brass-studded,  hair-covered  trunk  and  a  small 
bandbox  as  her  sole  baggage,  for  a  week's  stay 
in  the  metropolis.  She  stopped  at  Miss  Betty 
Oliver's  to  consult  her  and  engage  her  services.  "  I 
can  do  the  work,"  she  assured  Miss  Prissy,  "if  I 
can  get  Polly  Oliver  to  help.  She's  the  neatest 
hand  at  hemstitching  you  ever  saw  !  And  as  to 
felling  and  whipping  ruffles,  she  can't  be  beat. 
And  she's  as  steady  as  any  old  woman  !  I'll 
engage  to  do  some  of  the  white  work  and  the 
morning-gowns.  But  one  thing  I  do  ask,  and 
that  is  I  don't  want  any  bundles  or  messages 
sent  here  by  the  Doctor's  gardener.  He  was 
either  drunk  or  crazy  here  one  day  last  year. 
I  have  no  desire  to  interfere  with  any  of  the 
Doctor's  management,  but  give  me  negroes 
every  time  ! " 

"I  hope  Andy  didn't  misbehave  !  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  ?  Perhaps  you  misunderstood  him. 
He  speaks  broad  Scotch,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  claim  to  be  as  patient  as  most.  I 
stand  all  them  Perkinses  and  Hawkinses,  walk 
ing  about  here  as  if  the  place  belonged  to  'em, — 
and  they  only  renters, -- but  you  know,  Miss 
Prissy,  a  lone  woman  has  no  call  to  be  insulted 


346  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

in  Scotch  any  more  than  English.  Least  of  all 
by  a  serving  man,  —  and  that's  what  your 
Andy  is." 

"  No,  not  exactly  !  Andy  belongs  to  a  reputable 
clan.  He  isn't  classed  with  the  servants.  He 
lives  to  himself  and  intrudes  upon  nobody. 
Charles  has  such  a  way  with  him,  everybody 
loves  him,  and  he  thinks  a  great  deal  of  Andy. 
He  has  been  just  splendid  in  the  garden  !" 

"Well,  let  him  stay  there;   that's  all  I  ask." 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  what  he  did.  He'll 
not  stay  there,  Betty,  if  he  has  been  offensive  to 
you." 

"He  asked  me  to  marry  him,  that's  all ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"  What !  Andy  asked  you  to  marry  him ! 
Of  all  the  impudence  !" 

"That's  what  I  say  !  And  the  worst  of  it  is, 
he  has  spiled  my  record.  Over  and  over,  these 
men  about  here  have  thrown  it  up  to  me,  'there 
was  never  a  woman  with  any  sort  of  a  face  and 
figger  that  hadn't  had  an  offer,'  —  and  I  was 
proud  always  to  say,  'here's  one!9  No,  Miss 
Prissy !  I've  had  many  sorrows,  and  disap 
pointments  in  my  work  failin'  to  please,  and  the 
railroad  comin'  and  all  my  white  clothes  ruined, 
and  them  Perkinses  and  Hawkinses,  —  but  I 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  347 

could  say,  no  man  had  ever  made  bold  to  make 
up  to  me  before  !  He's  spiled  my  record  ! " 

"You  must  try  to  forget  it.  Remember,  he 
may  not  be  quite  sound  in  his  head." 

"He  won't  be,  if  he  tries  any  such  trick  a 
second  time  !  I  thank  my  heavenly  Father  that 
all  the  settin'  and  sewin'  and  low  spirits  and 
disappintments  haven't  taken  away  the  strength 
of  my  right  arm  !  I  think  I  gave  him  a  good 
scare  —  but  now  that  I'm  to  have  Polly  with  me, 
I  shall  have  to  be  extra  careful." 

Miss  Prissy  again  advised  her  to  think  of  it 
no  more,  assured  her  kindly  of  the  respect  in 
which  everybody  held  her,  and  promised  that 
the  gardener  should  be  sent  on  no  errands,  and 
in  no  way  permitted  to  outrage  her  feelings ; 
at  the  same  time  apologizing  for  poor  Angus, 
for  whom  she  had  much  respect. 

Shirley's  marriage  was  arranged  for  Christmas 
Eve.  Douglas  had  his  profession  of  the  law, 
and  he  at  once  proceeded  to  give  an  illustration 
of  his  powers  as  an  advocate.  He  reasoned  that 
the  sooner  he  "settled  down"  with  a  wife,  the 
better  would  be  his  success  ;  that  a  man's  life 
never  really  begins  until  he  marries,  —  and 
when  the  case  was  brought  before  Shirley,  it 
was  easily  won. 


348  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

The  months  of  anxiety  had  left  Shirley  with  im 
paired  strength  and  nerves  unstrung.  Douglas 
was  the  first  to  observe  this,  and  he  felt  that  the 
home  at  Cross  Roads  would  afford  less  quiet  and 
comfort  than  she  needed.  Catesby  was  out  of 
the  question.  Wingfield's  good  management  had 
yielded  finely  during  the  year  for  Harry,  who 
now  proposed  that  Douglas  and  Shirley  should 
spend  the  winter  as  his  guests  in  Florida.  Dur 
ing  the  winter,  the  house  at  Catesby  could  be 
made  comfortable. 

"I'll  return  your  visit  and  spend  the  summer 
with  you,"  said  Harry,  "and  have  my  place 
made  fit  for  a  lady  to  live  in.  'Find  the  lady 
first !'  She'll  be  easier  to  find,  maybe,  if  I 
make  a  lovely  garden  for  her." 

In  Virginia  a  wedding  was  a  great  event, 
second  to  none  other.  The  family  connection 
was  large.  Many  branches  had  sprung  from 
the  tree  planted  by  the  first  Berkeley,  the  first 
Newton,  and  everybody  was  coming  for  the 
double  event  of  Christmas  and  Shirley's  wedding. 

As  the  time  drew  near,  every  pair  of  hands 
was  demanded  for  service.  On  fine  mornings, 
the  Colonel  and  Dorothea  might  be  seen  lead 
ing  a  procession  of  little  negroes,  like  an  antique 
frieze,  bearing  on  their  shoulders  mighty  coils 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  349 

of  the  running  cedar  of  Virginia,  which 
lends  itself  so  gracefully  for  decoration ;  its 
soft  tufts  of  green --like  curled  ostrich  plumes 
—  growing  at  intervals  on  long  pliant  stems. 

These  were  piled  on  the  veranda,  to  loop 
every  curtain  and  to  outline  every  picture, 
window,  and  doorway. 

Anxious  visits  were  paid  to  Andy  and  to  the 
conservatory  to  find  whether  the  camellias 
would  bloom  in  time,  or  the  orange  trees  yield 
a  bud  or  two  for  the  bride.  Long  rows  of  wax 
candles  were  to  be  placed  in  position  along  the 
walls  and  over  the  arched  doors.  Wreaths 
were  to  be  hung  from  the  antlers  in  the  hall, 
and  over  the  doors  and  windows. 

Dorothea's  excitement  was  quickened  when 
"  Cousin  Frances "  —  a  sweet  little  maiden  lady 
with  much  lavender  about  her  garments  — 
arrived  to  claim  the  privilege  of  writing  the 
wedding  invitations.  This  she  considered  her 
due  as  a  near  relative.  Her  fine  Italian  hand 
seemed  peculiarly  suitable  for  occasions  of  high 
ceremony.  Delicately  traced  on  thick  glazed 
paper,  embossed  with  an  orange  blossom  in 
silver,  --to  be  tied  finally  with  satin  ribbon  and 
delivered,  as  far  as  possible,  personally,  —  were 
the  words  deemed  most  suitable  by  Cousin 


350  THE  COLONEL'S   STORY 

Frances :  "  The  pleasure  of  your  company  is 
requested  Thursday  evening,  December  the 
twenty-fourth,  etc." 

"Request  the  honour  of  your  presence  at  the 
marriage  of  their  daughter  Shirley  ?"  No,  in 
deed;  Cousin  Frances  would  have  considered 
this  too  intimate  and  unconventional.  Shirley, 
gliding  about  the  house  with  uplifted  spirit, 
was  treated  with  unwonted  respect.  Nobody 
would  dare  outrage  her  delicacy  by  jesting  allu 
sions  to  her  marriage.  "Come  here  now,  Miss 
Shirley,  and  he'p  me  beat  dese  aigs,"  called 
Hannah,  one  day  from  the  pantry.  "Now  I 
gwine  fine  out  whose  weddin'-cake  dis  is  !  Ef 
it's  yown,  you  won't  have  no  heart  to  beat  dese 
aigs.  Dar  now  !  What  I  tell  you  ?  Good-bye, 
Miss  Shirley  !  Don't  you  run  so  fas',  honey ; 
Hannah  ain'  gwine  tease  you  no  mo'." 

All  this  seems  very  absurd  in  these  times. 
The  modest  isolation  and  reticence  of  a  bride  — 
her  hidings  and  veilings  —  are  long  ago  out  of 
fashion  with  us.  If  we  like  them,  we  must  go 
to  the  Orient  to  find  them.  What  would  our 
Shirley  have  thought  of  seeing  her  engagement 
announced  upon  the  pages  of  The  New  York 
Clarion?  Autre  temps,  autrcs  mceurs ! 

Cousin    Frances    had    brought    her    choicest 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  351 

present  for  the  bride.  As  soon  as  she  had,  with 
other  relatives,  been  told  of  the  engagement, 
she  had  painted  wonderful  roses  on  white  velvet. 
With  this  she  had  lined  two  large,  clear 
glass  jars,  achieving  an  underglaze  unattained 
by  anything  known  in  ceramic  art.  The  jars, 
lest  some  unhappy  blunderer  should  imagine 
them  designed  for  vulgar  use,  she  filled  with 
white  sand.  To  this  present  for  the  mantel,  she 
added  one  she  deemed  suitable  for  the  centre- 
table.  She  moulded  in  wax  a  cluster  of  pond- 
lilies,  buds,  and  leaves.  These  she  mirrored  on 
a  miniature  lake,  and  spanned  them  with  a 
clear  hemisphere  of  glass.  Could  Earth,  Air, 
and  Water  be  typified  with  more  exquisite 
delicacy  ? 

The  Colonel's  face  was  a  study  when  he  found 
these  art  treasures  on  the  parlour  mantel,  ranged 
in  line  with  the  Venus,  the  School  of  Athens, 
and  the  Barberini  vase. 

He  took  the  latter  in  his  hand,  and  looked  at 
it  long  and  earnestly. 

"Take  care,  Cousin  James  !"  cried  Dorothea. 
"Mama  says  it  will  break  if  you  look  at  it." 

"Break!"  he  said  bitterly.  "It  was  broken 
long  ago.  It  has  never  lived  since.  I  was  just 
wondering  how  much  longer  the  little  Love  would 


352  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

fly  on  broken  wing!  However,"  he  sighed,  "if 
there  is  no  other  blow,  it  may  live  on,  brokenly, 
a  long  time  yet." 

When  the  boxes  from  Richmond  and  presents 
from  distant  friends  began  to  arrive,  Primrose, 
the  Colonel,  and  Dorothea  literally  lived  on 
the  road  to  and  from  the  station.  She  long 
remembered  his  growing  silence  and  sadness. 
Impatient,  like  all  children,  of  a  discordant 
note,  she  one  day  asked  him  what  he  was  always 
"so  blue  about." 

"Blue,  indeed  !"  he  cried.  "When  I  was  just 
thinking,  you  little  ingrate,  what  a  comfort  you 
are  to  me."  But  he  sighed  as  he  murmured, 
"Grosse  seelen  dulden  still" 

One  day  Milly  confided  to  Miss  Prissy  wrath- 
fully:  "None  o'  you-all  thinkin'  'bout  the 
Cunnul  in  all  this  fuss  !  I  cert'nly  does  de 
spise  to  hear  folks  talkin'  to  deyse'f  !  An'  he 
talk  outlandish,  too  !  Hit's  a  mighty  bad  sign. 
Then  ergin  —  what  de  matter  with  Miss  Nancy  ? 
Sump'n  done  stir  up  ole  Miss  Nancy  !  Folks 
tell  me  she  cyarn  re s1 !  Miss  Nancy  oneasy  in  her 
mine  'bout  the  Cunnel  —  sho's  you  bawn." 

When  Dorothea  repeated  this,  he  did  not  smile 
as  she  intended  he  should.  He  looked  into  the 
child's  face  wistfully,  and  she  ventured:  "What 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  353 

does  'Grosse  seelen  dulden  still'  mean,  Cousin 
James  ?" 

"  Let  me  see  —  something  like  this,  Dolly," 
and  he  repeated  slowly  :  — 

11  For  not  to  think  of  what  I  needs  must  feel, 
But  to  be  still  and  patient  all  I  can : 
This  is  my  whole  resource  —  my  only  plan ; 
Till  that  which  suits  a  part  infects  the  whole 
And  now  is  almost  grown  the  habit  of  my  soul.* 

"Poor  Milly,"  he  added.  "I  must  be  careful 
not  to  distress  her  with  my  'Grosse  seelen'  and 
such  heathenisms." 

All  this  seemed  so  foreign  to  his  usual  tempera 
ment  that  the  child  felt  a  sort  of  vague  anxiety ; 
hardly  more  intelligent,  however,  than  the  tran 
sient  uneasiness  of  an  animal  when  a  cloud  passes 
over  the  sun.  But  it  comforted  her  in  after  years 
to  remember  that  she  did  observe  and  did  sympa 
thize. 

He  looked  ill  a  few  days  before  the  wedding, 
and  finding  that  he  proposed  going  again  to 
the  station,  Dr.  Berkeley  forbade  him.  "But, 
Charley,  it  is  important,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Important,  is  it  ?  Well,  then,  I  shall  go  my 
self.  You  are  overworked  in  this  house  !  The 
best  thing  for  you  to  do,  Jim,  is  to  lie  right  down 

2A 


354  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

here  in  my  study,  and  let  Mary  and  Dolly  talk 
you  to  sleep.  It  will  rest  Mary  and  delight 
Dolly." 

"Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley,  "I  am  not 
young  enough  for  James  and  Dorothea." 

The  dear  Colonel  lay  down  as  he  was  bidden, 
and  smiling  up  into  her  face  quoted  from  a  lovely 
poem  they  had  recently  read  together  :  - 

'  I  am  a  child  —  and  she  is  a  child  ! 
And  our  love  is  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  are  older  than  we  — 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we  — 
For  this  maiden  she  lives  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me.' 

"  That's  a  little  mixed,  Dolly,  —  but  it's  true,  isn't 
it,  dear?"  And  somehow  the  child  knew  his 
heart  was  broken,  and  that  she  comforted  him  — 
knew  it,  and  was  herself  comforted. 

Her  mother  was  sitting  beside  the  fire,  with 
Dorothea  in  her  arms,  and  the  Colonel  with 
closed  eyes  had  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep, 
when  the  Doctor  burst  in  with,  "Here  you  are, 
James  !  Your  turn  this  time.  Here's  a  present 
for  you." 

"At  last !  At  last !"  cried  the  Colonel,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet.  The  cords  were  quickly  cut  from 
a  neat,  compact  parcel,  and  under  the  folds  of  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  355 

thick  brown  paper  lay  his  returned  manuscript. 
His  arms  dropped  helplessly  to  his  side.  A  letter 
fell  from  the  inner  covering.  He  flushed  pain 
fully  as  he  read  it.  It  was  from  the  chief  of  a 
great  New  York  publishing  house  and  contained 
—  not  the  transparent  fiction  of  an  apology  based 
upon  "a  great  mass  of  material  on  hand  just  at 
present,"  -  but  the  fair  and  square  announce 
ment  that  nothing  could  be  done  with  the  book, 
which  "failed  to  reach  the  standard  demanded 
by  the  reading  public."  In  such  fashion  did 
editors  dispose  of  contributors  in  the  forties. 

"Ah,  James,  don't!"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley,  as 
his  face  paled  and  his  lips  tightened. 

"Don't  tell  Shirley,"  he  whispered. 

"But  I'm  here,  Cousin  James  —  I  know!" 
Coming  to  him,  she  knelt  beside  the  lounge,  and 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Give  it  to  me  for  my  wedding-present.  It 
will  be  lovely  to  have  it  for  my  own  —  mine 
only,  not  the  world's.  And  —  Cousin  James,  I 
have  an  idea  !  You  said  it  was  noble,  and  about 
us.  We  will  act  it  --  live  it !  I  shall  call  Doug 
las  'Harold.'  I  am  his  'Gwenlian.' ' 

"Will  you,  Shirley  ?  I  have  not  been  feel 
ing  very  well.  Thank  you,  dear  Shirley."  But 
his  hands  trembled  painfully  as  he  loosed  her 


356  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

arms  from  his  neck.  He  fell  back,  white  and 
anguished,  upon  the  lounge. 

"By  Jove,  Jim,"  cried  the  Doctor,  impatiently, 
"what  is  all  this  about  ?  Do  you  suppose  there 
is  only  one  publisher  in  the  world  ?  What's  the 
use  of  making  mountains  out  of  mole-hills  ?  Get 
up  from  that  lounge.  Bring  out  the  blue  coat  and 
brass  buttons.  Likely  as  not  you  will  have  to 
give  the  bride  away.  Stevens  is  waiting  for  me 
at  the  gate.  Unless  he  can  get  Hargrave  to  see 
his  wife,  I  shall  have  to  go  to-morrow  or  next 
day.  If  Mary  Jane  has  any  conscience,  she'll  let 
me  off  in  time.  There's  no  help  for  it.  The 
girl  has  dangerous  symptoms,  and  Hargrave  is 
afraid  he  can't  go.  He  has  another  just  such 
case!" 

"Oh,  Papa,"  began  Shirley,  in  distress,  but  she 
controlled  herself  when  the  Colonel  exclaimed  : 
"Of  course  I'll  do  it '!  I  shall'love  to  do  it." 

"James  needs  a  bark  tonic,  Charles,"  said  Mrs. 
Berkeley,  as  she  followed  her  husband  out  of  the 
room.  "  I've  noticed  it  for  some  time.  He  has 
fallen  off,  and  looks  wretchedly." 

"James  needs  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  re 
torted.  "What  he  really  needs  is  a  good  fox 
hunt.  You  women  tie  a  fellow  to  your  apron- 
strings  ;  make  him  errand  boy,  nurse,  chief-cook, 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  357 


what-not;    lock    up    his    liver   with    jams   and 
syllabub,  and  then  want  me  to  physic  him." 

"You  doctors,"  laughed  his  wife,  "can  blister, 
bleed,  and  set  bones,  but  you  can't  even  see 
when  a  man  is  run  down  with  dumb  chills." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  house  was  soon  filling  fast  with  a  gay 
company.  The  bridesmaids,  Rosalie,  Anne,  Mil 
dred,  and  Elvira  of  the  early  summer-house  party, 
had  arrived,  bringing  a  white  box  containing  the 
"favours"  they  had  made  among  themselves. 
The  custom,  borrowed  from  the  Spanish,  of  wear 
ing  bits  cut  from  the  bride's  ribbons  had  blos 
somed  into  "bride's  favours"  —  a  survival  of  the 
Spanish  custom,  first  introduced  into  the  mother 
country  when  Charles  II  brought  home  his 
Katharine  of  Portugal  to  be  England's  queen. 
The  large  white  satin  rosettes  —  bride's  favours 
—  worn  then  by  groomsmen  survive  to-day  in 
boutonnieres  made  of  the  bride's  flowers. 

The  merry  bridesmaids  pervaded  the  house 
and  helped  with  the  final  touches  to  the  bride's 
wedding-dress.  She  was  duly  provided  with  — 

"  Something  old,  and  something  new ; 
Something  borrowed  and  something  blue." 

The  old  was  the  heirloom  of  lace,  the  borrowed 
an  orange  blossom  or  two  from  the  coronal  of 

358 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  359 

another  recent  happy  bride,  the  blue  a  tiny  knot 
of  ribbon  on  the  garter,  —  the  wearing  of  those 
full  of  significance,  linking  a  bride  in  the  chain 
which  stretches  far  back  to  the  early  stages  of  the 
world.  The  wedding-ring  and  the  choice  of  the 
third  finger  as  being  connected  with  the  heart 
are  mentioned  in  old  Egyptian  literature.  The 
blue  ribbon,  whether  worn  as  a  badge,  or  order, 
or  at  bridals,  comes  down  from  the  ancient 
Israelites,  who  were  bidden  to  put  upon  the  bor 
ders  of  their  garments  a  "  riband  of  blue"  —  blue, 
the  colour  of  purity,  loyalty,  and  fidelity.  The 
old  and  the  new  symbolize  her  past  and  future, 
not  divided  but  united.  The  "something 
borrowed"  signifies  a  pledge  to  be  redeemed. 
Nothing  is  without  significance,  which  accounts 
for  the  fact  that  all  these  old-time  customs  con 
tinue  from  century  to  century,  and  are  jealously 
observed  to  this  day. 

Shirley's  bridesmaids  assisted  in  the  delight 
ful  task  of  decorating  the  wedding  supper.  A 
mighty  bowl  of  egg-nog  was  wreathed  with  holly 
in  honour  of  the  Christmas  Eve ;  the  tables  glit 
tered  with  crystal  and  silver.  All  was  lighted  by 
many  silver  candelabra,  from  which  depended 
wonderful  ivory-like  ornaments  made  of  tissue 
paper  by  Cousin  Frances.  Every  dish  had  its 


360  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

garland  of  green,  and  all  the  flowers  that  Andy 
and  the  neighbouring  conservatories  could  fur 
nish. 

"Tell  me,  Aunt  Milly  !"  said  one  of  the  brides 
maids,  "did  you  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
wedding-cake  ?" 

"Did  Milly  have  anythin'  do  with  the  weddin'- 
cake  ?  I  never  lef  it  fum  the  time  the  fust  aig- 
shell  was  cracked  ontwel  it  come  out  o'  the  oven." 

"Well,  then, —  could  you  give  just  a  little  hint 
where  the  ring  was  slipped  in  after  it  was  cold  ? 
Was  it  near  the  edge  or  in  the  middle  ?" 

"Go  way,  Miss  Rosalie  !  You  ain'  got  nothin' 
to  do  with  no  ring  'cep'n  yo'  own  weddin'-ring. 
I'm  jes'  listenin'  now  fur  yo'  Ma  to  'gage  me  to 
he'p  make  yo'  weddin'-cake  !  You  jes'  go  off  in 
a  corner  with  Marse  Tawm,  an'  leave  the  cut- 
tin'  of  that  cake  to  Miss  Elvira  an'  Miss  Anne 
an'  Miss  Mildred  and  t'  others.  You  ain'  got 
nothin'  to  do  with  it." 

"I  think,"  said  little  Anne  Page  to  Douglas  the 
evening  before  the  wedding,  "  it's  as  little  as  you 
can  do  to  make  Aunt  Milly  tell  me  where  she  put 
that  ring  in  the  wedding-cake  !  Somebody  must 
do  something  for  me  !  The  whole  county  gave 
you  to  me  for  three  whole  months  last  year,  and 
if  you  declined  to  give  yourself,  who  is  to  blame 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  361 

for  it  ?  Shirley,  of  course  !  But  I'll  forgive  her 
if  she'll  find  out  under  what  flower  the  ring  is 
hidden." 

"Take  care,  Miss  Anne  !  Don't  tempt  me  too 
far.  You  know  perfectly  well  I  was  detailed  for 
police  duty,  when  'the  county'  was  kind  enough 
to  observe  me.  I  was  required  by  my  employer 
to  guard  a  valuable  and  elusive  piece  of  property 
—  '  as  sliddery  as  an  eel,'  as  Angus  would  say ;  — 
and  small  thanks  did  I  get,  besides  damaging  my 
own  interests  !  I  have  to  request  that  the  feel 
ings  of  my  best  man  be  respected.  Don't  drive 
him  to  desperation  until  I  have  finished  with 
him." 

"  I  think  you  need  all  the  help  he  can  give  you," 
she  replied;  "you  are  talking  rather  wildly.  I 
wonder  what  in  the  world  you  mean." 

Douglas  laughed.  "Oh,  Sister  Anne,  do  you 
see  somebody  coming  ?  Patience !  He  will 
come,  never  fear!" 

Anne  tapped  her  head  significantly.  "Not 
quite  a'  there,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said  sadly —  and 
affecting  to  hear  herself  called,  exclaimed,  "Oh, 
that's  Major  Selden  -  -  I  hope  !  He's  perfectly 
charming  !  I  can  never,  never  understand  why 
Shirley  didn't  set  her  cap  for  him." 

The  wedding  evening  came  at  last.     To  Doro- 


362  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

thea  it  seemed  a  great  blur  of  laughter,  tears, 
kisses,  flowers,  —  and  an  all-pervading  whiteness. 

Like  the  murmuring  of  many  waters  were  the 
sounds  that  filled  the  house :  the  frou-frou  of 
silken  garments,  hurried,  eager  footsteps  ;  whis 
pers,  hushed  greetings,  low  musical  laughter. 
Suddenly  a  stillness  fell  on  the  company.  Out 
of  it  rose  the  solemn  voice  of  Bishop  Meade,  as  he 
mingled  the  cup  whereof  every  son  and  daughter 
of  Adam  must  drink  wholly  or  in  part ;  riches, 
poverty ;  sickness,  health ;  cleaving,  forsaking, 
parting  —  death. 

"  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man  ?" 

"I  do." 

And  then  Shirley  -  -  lately  grown  so  grave, 
so  reserved  —  surprised  them  all.  To  be  sure 
only  relatives  were  present  —  but  Shirley  threw 
back  her  veil  and  kissed  the  Colonel ! 

Harry  was,  of  course,  his  brother's  best  man. 
After  the  ceremony  was  over,  supper  eaten, 
healths  drunk,  he  stood  among  the  bridesmaids 
to  assist  when  the  fateful  wedding-cake  was  cut. 
A  long  search  failed  to  reveal  the  ring  foretelling 
the  next  wedding.  The  thimble,  condemning  to 
spinsterhood,  was  found  by  Rosalie  —  to  the 
amusement  of  many  who  were  already  notified  of 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  363 

her  approaching  marriage.  Little  Dorothea  wan 
dered  through  the  rooms,  finding  something  to  do 
for  everybody,  and  seeing  that  all  the  old  people 
and  children  were  served. 

"You  haven't  said  a  word  to  me,  Miss  Doro 
thea,"  said  Harry  Newton,  "and  you  know  you 
are  my  little  sister  now." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Dorothea;  "you  are 
always  my  cousin,  —  like  everybody  else ;  but 
only  Douglas  has  come  into  the  family.  I'm 
afraid  there  isn't  anybody  left  for  you,"  she  said 
regretfully.  "There's  Aunt  Prissy  !" 

"Ah!  now  you  have  it!"  said  Harry.  "I'm 
devoted  to  Miss  Prissy,  but  she  wouldn't  have 
me.  I  have  decided  to  wait  for  you.  Yes,  yes, 
I  forgot  the  Colonel  !  But  I  say,  Dolly  —  do 
you  see  Miss  Anne  Page  anywhere  ?  Where  has 
she  runoff  too  ?" 

"Cousin  Anne  is  behind  the  oleander.  She 
hasn't  run  very  far.  She  said  she  would  rest 
there  a  minute.  Must  I  call  her  ?  " 

"No,  no,  dear  !  Let  her  rest ;"  but  he  at  once 
began  to  make  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the 
clump  of  evergreens  and  potted  plants  at  the  end 
of  the  room.  There  he  found  Anne,  and  stood 
silent  before  her. 

"It's  been   such   a   lovely  wedding,"  she   re- 


364  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

marked.  "I  never  saw  Shirley  look  as  beau 
tiful." 

No  answer,  and  presently  Anne  essayed  again. 
"Douglas  looks  very  handsome,  too.  Everybody 
is  looking  well,  even  old  Mrs.  Ponsonby.  Did 
you  notice  the  magnificent  diamond  necklace 
she  gave  Shirley  —  every  stone  pure  white  and 
perfect,  except  one  ?  The  honourable  old  soul 
mentioned  it." 

Harry  was  still  silent.  "Angus,  who  knows 
everything  past,  present,  and  to  come,  says  we 
shall  have  snow  to-night,"  said  Anne,  talking 
fast.  "We've  had  the  most  glorious  winter  !  I 
do  hope  they  won't  have  bad  weather  for  their 
trip  to  Florida." 

Harry  stood  looking  at  her  with  an  amused 
smile  on  his  face.  Finally  —  as  she  seemed  to 
have  exhausted  her  stock  of  subjects  for  conver 
sation  —  he  said  gravely :  — 

"Anne,  how  many  times  have  I  asked  you 
to  promise  to  marry  me  as  soon  as  I  finish  at  the 
University  ?" 

"I  have  no  head  at  all  for  figures;  I  always 
failed  in  my  arithmetic  classes  at  school.  And 
I've  a  poor  memory  !  If  you  asked  me  once,  I've 
forgotten  it.  Besides,  you  ought  to  have  been 
thinking  about  your  lessons." 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  365 

"Why  do  you  clench  your  poor  little  left  hand 
like  a  prize-fighter  ?  Oh,  Anne,  Anne  !  /  saw 
you  find  the  ring  I  —  and  you  are  hiding  it  close  in 
that  shut  hand;"  and  bending  the  unresisting 
fingers  apart,  he  revealed  the  missing  treasure. 

Anne  stood  like  a  culprit  before  him  making  no 
resistance.  He  took  the  ring  from  her  open  palm, 
put  it  a  moment  reverently  to  his  lips,  and  then 
gently  slipped  it  upon  her  third  finger. 

"It  fits  very  well,"  Anne  faltered,  "and  it  is 
a  beautiful  ring.  I  didn't  tell  I  had]  found  it 
because  —  because  — " 

"Oh,  because,"  said  Harry,  "you  knew  my 
hour  had  come  !  It  fits,  yes  —  because  it  was 
intended  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  for 
you  —  and  was  made  and  sent  and  found  to  be 
my  darling's  prophetic  ring  !  There's  dear  old 
Douglas  looking  at  us  across  the  room.  Let 
both  of  us  kiss  our  hands  to  him  —  he'll  under 
stand." 

Anne  had  now  recovered  herself.  "Of  course 
I  am  willing  to  kiss  my  hand  to  Douglas,  but  you 
see,  Harry,  I've  not  said  —  ' 

"No,  dear,  you've  not  said  a  word!  Ah! 
there's  Douglas  waving  his  hand  to  us  !  All 
right,  old  man,  it's  all  right"  — and  before 
Anne  had  time  to  think,  she  had  waved  with 


366  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

him  back  again.  They  saw  Douglas  stoop  and 
whisper  to  Shirley,  and  then  both  kissed  hands 
to  them. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  said  Colonel  Car- 
rington  as  he  took  a  glass  of  old  Madeira  with  his 
friend  Mrs.  Henry,  "if  we  have  an  epidemic  next 
spring  of  weddings.  They  are  infectious.  I 
have  rarely  seen  an  isolated  case." 

"I  think  I  could  name  three  or  four  couples 
already,"  said  Mrs.  Henry.  "Of  course  my 
Rosalie's  comes  next,  —  early  in  February,  — 
and  your  Elvira  and  Mildred  are  promised  soon 
after.  I  am  afraid  my  favourite,  little  Anne  Page, 
will  be  left  out  in  the  cold.  She  is  a  sad  little 
coquette.  She  doesn't  acknowledge  that  any 
thing  is  in  sight  for  her !  I  wish  she  could 
capture  Colonel  James  !  He  is  really  too  fine 
a  fellow  to  be  an  old  bachelor." 

Similar  remarks  and  prognostications  were 
expressed  by  Milly  to  old  Isham.  "This  yer's 
jes'  a  beginnin'.  One  weddin'  brings  many. 
Bimeby  ther  won't  be  no  ole  maids  lef  but  Miss 
Prissy." 

"True  for  you,  Sis  Milly,"  said  Isham.  "Ef 
you  kills  one  fly,  a  hundred  will  come  to  his 
funeral.  But  you  needn'  worry  about  Miss 
Prissy.  Miss  Prissy  cert'nly  had  her  day ! 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  367 

'Feared  like  she  could  have  had  the  angel  Gabrel 
—  ef  she  wanted  him  !  None  o'  dese  young 
ladies  nowadays  could  hold  a  candle  to  her." 

"Humph  !  "  said  Milly,  indulging  in  the  expres 
sive  unspellable  Southern  exclamation,  which 
is  made  by  tone  and  emphasis  to  express,  as 
circumstances  may  demand,  surprise,  acquies 
cence,  doubt,  or  contempt  —  in  this  instance, 
the  latter.  "Humph  !  Miss  Prissy  am'  got  no 
use  fer  the  angel  Gabrel  !  What  she  gwine 
do  with  a  musty  feathery  ole  angel  ?" 

Isham  shook  his  grey  head.  He  was  a  dea 
con  in  the  church  and  "Sis  Milly's"  occasional 
lapses  into  irreverence  caused  him  sincere  con 
cern. 

As  Miss  Betty  Oliver  pervaded  the  house, 
assisting  everywhere,  Andy  had  much  ado  to 
secure  for  himself  a  coveted  honour, — the  pres 
entation  by  his  own  hand  of  the  magnificent 
bouquet  his  skill  had  attained  for  the  bride. 
After  many  furtive  peepings  and  quick  hidings 
behind  doors,  he  espied  Miss  Betty  absorbed  in 
placing  certain  dishes  in  position  on  the  table, 
and  beckoning  to  his  friend  Isham  with  fearful 
contortions  of  his  face  suggesting  danger  signals, 
"Whisht,  mon,"  he  whispered,  "haud  the  door 
a  wee  till  I  win  speech  wi*  the  young  leddy." 


368  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Isham  nodded  assent,  and  Andy  crept  in  on 
tiptoe  to  Shirley. 

"Oh,  Andy,  you  dear  good  fellow !  How 
perfectly  adorable  !  Camellias  and  Cape  Jessa 
mine  !" 

Andy  bowed  low;  he  was  on  his  mettle.  "Na, 
na,  it's  nought  but  a  wee  trifle  !  May  guid  an' 
guid  only  ben  yer  portion,  my  bonny  leddy  ! 
Ye'll  kindly  tak  auld  Angus'  benison  whare'er 
ye  gang." 

"See,  Douglas,  —  see  the  magnificence  of  our 
Andy!" 

"Ah  !  Superb  !  Splendid  !  Oh,  Andy,  Andy  ! 
Try  again,  old  fellow !  —  *  as  good  fish  in  the 
sea  as  ever  yet  were  caught/  you  know !" 

"And  lang  may  they  bide  there  for  a'  Angus. 
I  hae  had  -  '  but  here  Dorothea  touched  his 
arm.  "Uncle  Isham  says  'look  out';  I  don't 
know  what  he  means,  but  he  asked  me  - 

Angus  heard  no  more.  He  was  close  to  a  door 
leading  into  the  veranda,  and  any  one  happen 
ing  at  the  moment  to  be  at  a  rear  window 
might  have  seen  his  angular  figure  fleeing  to  the 
shelter  of  his  own  sanctuary. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

"I  FEEL  like  a  thief,  Charley,"  said  the  Colonel 
to  Dr.  Berkeley,  who  returned  several  hours  after 
the  ceremony.  "The  Bishop  positively  de 
clined  to  wait.  Talk  of  Medes  (and  Persians), 
but  commend  me  to  this  Meade  for  cast-iron 
Rules  and  Regulations." 

"Wear  your  honours,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the 
Doctor,  with  his  arm  around  the  Colonel's 
shoulder.  "This  seems  to  be  your  great  day. 
I  have  just  parted  from  a  newly  arrived  citizen 
who  is  to  be  christened  'James  Jones  Stevens.' 
He  hopes  you  appreciate  the  distinguished 
company  in  which  you  find  yourself.  I  tell 
you,"  he  added,  shaking  his  head,  "that  poor 
girl  had  a  close  call  !  But  she's  all  right  now. 
So  you  gave  my  girl  away,  and  had  a  kiss  for 
your  pains  !  Easier  for  you  than  for  me,  I 
warrant.  But  after  all,  it  is  for  her  happiness,  I 
do  believe.  I  thought  a  good  deal  about  her 
coming  home,  and  I  feel  that  we  attach  too 
much  importance  to  the  mere  accessories  of 
life.  Douglas  is  a  fine  fellow,  —  and  he  will  win 

2B  369 


370  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

for  her  all  she  needs.  She  will  like  everything 
better  if  he  works  for  it.  How  did  Mary  seem 
to  stand  it  ?" 

"When  did  dear  Mary  ever  think  of  herself  ? 
Never  since  I  have  known  her." 

When  the  merriment  of  the  young  people  was 
at  its  height,  the  Colonel  found  his  little  Duchess, 
tired  out,  but  bravely  keeping  up  for  the  going 
away  at  dawn  to  meet  the  train. 

"Well,  little  Dolly,  here  you  are  !  We  have 
been  good  little  girls,  haven't  we  ?  Do  you 
know  what's  going  to  happen  ?  We  don't  like 
good-byes  —  you  and  I.  We  are  going  to  find 
Mammy,  and  we  three  will  run  away  to  the 
office.  You  and  she  will  sleep  in  my  back 
room.  Let's  be  off  before  we  are  found  out !" 

He  had  made  of  the  small  room  at  the  rear  of 
his  own  a  bower  of  bright  stuffs  and  evergreens. 
A  fire  burned  on  the  hearth.  A  little  white 
dressing-table  stood  in  a  corner,  and  as  white  a 
cot  held  out  inviting  arms  to  an  utterly  exhausted 
little  maiden.  Mammy  brought  her  quilts  to 
spread  before  the  fire,  fully  intending  to  steal 
away  as  soon  as  Dorothea  should  be  asleep. 
The  Colonel  bade  the  little  girl  good  night,  and 
entered  his  own  room.  Dorothea  observed, 
resentfully,  that  he  had  forgotten  to  kiss  her. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  371 

He  had  not  forgotten  !  His  own  good  night  kiss 
from  Shirley  still  trembled  on  his  lips.  There 
must  be  no  other  to-night. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  Milly  knocked  at  his 
door.  "  I  can't  do  nothin'  with  Dolly  !  She's 
so  nervous  and  excited  I'm  feared  she'll  make 
herself  sick.  She  done  stuff  herse'f  with  every 
thing  an'  she  won't  sleep  a  wink.  You  mout 
speak  to  her,  Marse  Jeemes.  I  got  her  up  and 
put  her  flannel  gown  on  her  to  rock  her  to  sleep 
—  but  'tain't  no  use." 

"I  don't  feel  like  sleeping  myself,  Dolly," 
said  the  Colonel.  "Can't  we  get  the  wedding 
out  of  our  heads  ?  If  you  invite  me,  I'll  draw 
up  a  chair  here  to  your  fire.  I'll  be  company  and 
you  shall  entertain  me.  Wait  a  minute  !  I'll 
brinp  my  arm-chair.  That's  right,  Milly ! 
Take  her  Grace  into  your  lap.  Now  what  are 
you  thinking  so  much  about  ? " 

"I'm  just  not  sleepy.  I  was  thinking  about 
that  night  when  I  told  Douglas  Shirley  had 
cried.  I  oughtn't  to  have  told  him —  Shirley 
didn't  wish  it  —  and  maybe  if  I  hadn't,  she 
would  never  have  married  him." 

The  Colon -1  assured  her  that  nothing  she 
could  have  done  could  possibly  have  prevented 
that ! 


372  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

"And  then  I  couldn't  get  the  poem  out  of  my 
head.  And  the  star  and  the  lovers  and  Lesbos 
—  and  all  that.  It  was  beautiful,  and  I  under 
stood  it  very  well.  It's  the  star  that  bothers 
me.  Why  did  the  lutes  sing  to  the  star?" 

"Lawd,"  said  Milly,  "ef  this  chile  don't  go 
crazy  'twill  be  His  mercy.  Make  'er  stop 
talkin',  Marse  Jeemes." 

But  the  Colonel  was  wise.  With  children  the 
worst  plan  of  all  others  is  to  check  the  expression 
of  their  wondering  interest  in  all  that  is  so  new 
to  their  young  minds.  He  told  Dorothea  that 
she  was  quite  right ;  that  great  and  wise  men 
all  over  the  world  had  wondered  at  the  stars, 
and  poets  had  sung  to  them  —  those  beautiful 
lights  that  God  had  set  in  the  sky ;  and  then, 
with  exquisite  tact,  he  led  her  mind  to  the  familiar 
old  Christmas  story,  and  pictured  to  her  in  his 
own  inimitable  manner  the  lambs  and  sheep 
lying  asleep  in  a  far-away  time  in  a  far-away 
country,  and  the  young  shepherds  talking  to 
gether  to  keep  themselves  awake;  and  how  a 
great  star  suddenly  blazed  out  in  the  dark  sky, 
and  the  shepherds  heard  strange  voices  in  the 
heavens,  proclaiming  that  God  had  sent  His 
Peace  upon  the  sleeping  world;  and  how 
wise  and  learned  men  also  saw  the  star,  and 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  373 

knowledge  came  into  their  hearts  that  a  Child 
had  been  born  who  would  grow  up  to  save  and 
bless  all  the  people  then,  and  all  who  would 
come  after.  And  how  the  wise  men  longed  to 
find  him  that  they  might  adore  him,  but  could 
never  have  found  him  but  for  the  beautiful  star 
which  moved  on,  leading  them  a  long  way  over 
hills  and  valleys,  until  it  stood  still  over  an 
humble  manger,  —  and  there  they  found  the 
Child  and  worshipped  him  and  brought  him 
perfumes  and  such  things  as  they  could  procure, 
and  so  on,  to  the  end  of  the  divine  story  —  so 
precious,  so  cherished,  so  little  understood  !  And 
then  he  reminded  the  little  girl  that  because  of 
our  faith  in  this  Child  and  obedience  to  his 
teachings,  all  would  be  forever  well  with  us,  — 
every  one,  —  and  if  we  made  mistakes,  they 
would  be  forgiven ;  that  knowing  this,  we  should 
be  happy. 

"But  I  can't  feel  happy  that  Shirley's  married. 
Can  you,  Cousin  James  ?" 

"Yes-- 1  can  be  happy!  She  is  happy! 
That  is  enough,  darling,  for  me." 

"Well,"  said  Dorothea,  resignedly,  "I'll  try 
not  to  mind  !  I  have  you  !  I'll  play  I'm  a 
lonesome  little  girl,  and  you  are  my  fairy  prince." 

"Oh  no,  not  so  !     I  was  a  lonesome  old  fellow, 


374  THE   COLONEL'S   STORY 

and  had  never  been  of  much  use  in  the  world, 
and  had  never  had  anybody  to  love  me  much, 
until  I  found  a  dear  little  Duchess  who  took  me 
in  and  taught  me  how  to  be  happy.  You  must 
never  forget  that.  Come,  now,  our  talk  has 
rested  both  of  us.  Come,  Mammy,  put  her  to 
bed,"  for  the  child's  eyelids  were  drooping; 
"she  is  going  to  sleep  like  a  dormouse,  and  so 
am  I."  He  stooped  and  lightly  touched  with 
his  hand  the  top  of  her  drooping  head.  "Good 
night,  dear  little  Duchess,  good  night."  She 
was  too  far  gone  with  sleep  to  respond,  but  she 
must  have  heard  —  for  before  dawn  she  had 
a  beautiful  dream  of  hearing  again  distinctly, 
"Good  night,  dear  little  Duchess,  good  night." 
Late  next  morning,  Dorothea  was  awakened 
by  her  father's  voice  at  her  little  window,  bidding 
her  dress  quietly,  come  out  of  the  back  door,  and 
not  disturb  the  Colonel,  who  was  still  asleep. 
Milly  had  stolen  in  without  waking  her  and 
kindled  a  fire.  Looking  out,  she  saw  that  snow 
had  fallen  in  the  night  and  was  hanging  in  loose 
wreaths  from  the  boughs  of  the  evergreens.  A 
great  bush  of  leafless  Scottish  broom  stood  be 
fore  her  window,  its  many  slender  stems  coated 
with  icicles  which  glittered  in  the  morning  sun 
like  a  fountain  of  diamonds.  She  remembered 


THE  COLONEL'S  STORY  375 

that  her  sister  was  far  away  on  her  journey,  and 
a  keen  pang  of  grief  at  losing  her  clutched  at 
the  child-heart. 

When  she  was  ready  to  sally  forth,  she  found 
her  father  slowly  pacing  the  gravelled  walk  lead 
ing  to  the  house.  As  she  looked  around  all 
seemed  changed  —  sad,  silent,  and  cold.  Her 
father  kissed  her,  and  took  her  hand  with  a  look 
that  arrested  the  "Merry  Christmas"  on  her 
lips.  He  spoke  gravely,  reverently,  of  the  gift 
of  gifts  —  and  of  the  Christmas  angels'  message 
of  peace.  And  then  he  told  the  wondering  child 
gently  that  the  Colonel  was  asleep  —  and  would 
awake  no  more  in  this  world. 

It  was  poor  little  Dorothea's  first  sorrow, 
and  none  in  after  life  was  keener.  She  cher 
ished  in  her  silent  heart  an  indignant  protest 
as  she  heard  Major  Selden  and  others  who  had 
known  him  from  boyhood  speculate  upon  the 
possible  hereditary  cause  of  his  death.  "  I  knew 
him  —  not  they,"  was  her  thought,  and  she 
recalled  the  last  lines  he  had  quoted  to  her :  — 

But  our  love  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 
Of  those  who  were  older  than  we.' 

"Ah  !  I  know  now  why  he  has  been  taken 
from  me :  — 


376  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

'The  angels,  not  half  as  happy  in  heaven, 
Went  envying  him  and  me.' 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  reason.  —  That  was  the 
reason  !" 

Milly  could  not  be  kept  away  from  the  room 
in  which  the  assembled  guests  mournfully  dis 
cussed  the  causes  of  his  death.  She  had  drawn 
Dorothea  to  her  faithful  bosom,  and  gently 
rocked  her  while  they  talked.  "Dorothea  was 
the  last  one  that  saw  him,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"Tell  us,  Dolly,  —  what  did  he  say  to  you?" 

But  the  stricken  child  could  not  answer.  She 
turned  her  face  away.  She  could  not  speak. 
"'Deed,  no,  Marse  Chawles,"  said  poor  Milly, 
tearfully,  "'Zarrer  was  de  las'  one  saw  de 
Cunnel.  'Zarrer  run  befo'  de  kerridge  down  the 
avenue  to  open  the  big  gate  fur  Miss  Shirley, 
an'  he  see  the  Cunnel  close  to  the  hedge  by  the 
gate.  The  Cunnel  nuwer  say  nothin'  to  'Zarrer 
-  he  jus'  stan'  thar,  'twel  the  kerridge  was  out 
o'  sight  an'  then  he  sorter  melt  away  !  'Zarrer 
say  he  cert'nly  was  skeered, —  the  Cunnel  look 
so  white, —  an'  I  tell  him  'twarn  nothin'  but  a 
dream  o'  hisn,  an'  'twarn  none  o'  his  business 
anyhow  to  be  dreamin'  'bout  the  Cunnel." 

"The  boy  was  mistaken,"  said  the  Doctor, 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  377 

turning  to  his  guests.  "Poor  James  must  have 
died  about  three  o'clock.  The  carriage  did  not 
leave  until  four.  Shirley  missed  him  and  made 
me  promise  to  look  after  him,  which  I  did  as 
soon  as  she  left.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
office,  and  I  naturally  supposed  he  was  avoiding 
the  good-bye.  When  I  found  him,  he  had  been 
dead  fully  an  hour.  His  candle  had  burned  low. 
A  large  package  of  manuscript  was  smoulder 
ing  on  the  hearth.  Dear  James  had  evidently 
lighted  it,  and  lain  upon  the  lounge  to  watch  it 
burning." 

"His  precious  book  !     His  Lost  Song  !" 

There  is  something  inexpressibly  pathetic  in 
the  mute  grief  of  a  young  child.  Dorothea 
asked  no  questions  —  the  faces  around  her 
already  answered.  For  the  time  all  sunshine, 
all  joy,  died  in  her  heart.  When  her  gentle 
mother  saw  she  could  not  be  comforted,  she  gave 
her  the  Colonel's  Bible.  "No  one  has  opened 
it,  dear.  It  is  yours  just  as  he  left  it  —  yours 
only."  She  read  in  the  Gospels  morning  and 
evening  for  a  week  or  two  before  she  turned  the 
pages  of  the  Old  Testament.  With  the  reti 
cence  of  a  child  she  pondered,  but  did  not  reveal, 
what  she  found  within. 


378  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Marked,  interlined,  and  dated  on  the  day  she 
had  sat  in  the  apple  tree  and  overheard  his 
pleading  for  Shirley's  happiness  were  the  words  : 

"  Love  is  strong  as  death  ! " 

"Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither 
can  the  floods  drown  it ! " 

In  the  blank  space  beneath  the  Canticle  he 
had  written  and  dated  on  that  last  Christmas 
Eve:  — 

"Almighty  God  !  If  it  shall  please  Thee  to 
accept  this,  my  sacrifice,  return  it,  I  beseech 
Thee,  in  blessings  upon  her  whom  I  have  loved 
with  a  love  strong  as  death  —  and  upon  him  to 
whom  through  Thy  strength  I  have  given  her." 

"A  love  strong  as  death,"  pondered  little 
Dorothea.  "That  must  be  a  great  love.  I 
thought,"  and  her  lip  quivered,  "that  he  loved 
his  little  Duchess  best  of  all !  But  he  loved 
Shirley  best !  He  loved  me  like  papa  loves  me, 
I  reckon ;  and  he  loved  her  like  Douglas  loves 
her.  She  shall  never  know  it !  She  shall  never 
know  that  Douglas  came  and  broke  his  heart  — 
his  dear,  dear,  dear  heart !  He  wanted  her  to 
be  happy  —  and  if  I  told  her,  she  could  never 
be  happy  any  more." 

A  guest  one  day  was  discussing  with  her  mother 
the  meaning  of  the  mysterious  figures  on  the 


THE   COLONEL'S   STORY  379 

Barberini  vase  on  the  parlour  mantel,  and  Doro 
thea  suddenly  recalled  the  day  when  the  Colonel 
had  looked  long  at  the  timid  soul  entering  the 
land  of  shadows,  and  wondered  how  much 
longer  the  little  Love  could  fly  on  broken  wing 
to  light  the  way.  She  had  a  great  desire  to 
own  this  vase  to  keep  with  the  Bible  safe  from 
further  harm,  and  her  mother  gave  it  to  her. 
Handling  it  carefully  as  she  wrapped  it  in  soft 
silk,  she  perceived  the  design  on  the  bottom 
-the  beautiful  hooded  figure  with  finger  on 
lip,  supposed  by  the  learned  to  represent  the 
Phrygian  Atys,  or  to  be  symbolic  of  secrecy. 
To  poor  little  Dorothea  the  sealed  lips  gave  no 
message  as  they  do  to  others,  —  no  mournful 
hint,  in  view  of  the  lesson  on  the  vase,  of  im 
perfect  knowledge,  no  whisper  that  "after  all, 
what  do  we  know"  which  makes  silence  the  only 
alternative.  To  her  the  message  seemed  to  be 
that  her  adored  Colonel's  secret  should  be  kept 
sacredly,  and  in  her  prayers  she  asked  that  she 
might  have  strength  so  to  keep  it.  It  was  rudely 
wrested  from  her,  however --but  only  to  be 
given  to  her  mother.  The  two  kept  it,  a  sacred 
inheritance  from  the  dear  one  who  had  so  jeal 
ously  guarded  it  all  his  life. 

About    a    month    after   the    Colonel's    death 


380  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Mrs.  Bangs  paid  Berkeley  Castle  a  visit  —  a 
visit  somewhat  dreaded  by  Mrs.  Berkeley  and 
Miss  Prissy,  who  felt  little  able  to  bear  her  re 
marks  and  condolences,  her  touch  upon  their 
sorrow  —  sorrow  too  sacred  for  discussion  even 
among  themselves.  But  they  were  too  kind  to 
deny  themselves  to  the  poor  woman  who  had 
come  so  far  —  at  least,  Mrs.  Berkeley  was  too 
kind,  for  Miss  Prissy  fled  to  the  sanctuary 
of  her  own  room.  Mrs.  Bangs  laid  aside  her 
black  quilted  hood  and  revealed  a  face,  every  line 
of  which  was  drawn  to  the  deep  affliction  mark. 
"Oh,  yes'm,  Ma'y  Jane  an*  the  baby  is  doin' 
right  smart.  'Twas  onreasonable  for  him  to 
come  the  night  of  Miss  Shirley's  wcddin',  but 
Ma'y  Jane  declared  fo'  gracious  she  couldn't 
help  it.  An'  I  don't  know  which  cried  the 
fiercest,  the  baby  or  Ma'y  Jane,  when  we  all 
heerd  'bout  the  Cunnel.  Yes'm !  We  sholy 
does  walk  in  a  vale  o'  tears.  This  worl's  a 
wil'erness  o'  woe  as  the  hime  says.  Po'  Cunnel  ! 
How  he  used  to  come  and  set  with  me  time  an* 
ergin  at  the  old  place.  'Peared  like  I  was  the 
only  one  could  understan'.  /  always  knowed 
the  Gunnel's  feelin's  befor'  he  spoke  'em.  He 
was  that  familious  with  us.  7  knowed  his 
trouble,"  she  added,  shaking  her  head  wisely. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  381 

"We  were  much  surprised  here.  The  Doctor 
never  suspected  anything  serious  !  He  was 
thinking  perhaps  a  tonic "  -  Mrs.  Berkeley 
said  brokenly;  "and  indeed,  if  we  had  been  less 
absorbed !  But  it  was  an  inherited  malady, 
we  suppose  !" 

"Yes'm,  yes'm.  That's  so !  They  all  in 
herits  it.  'Pears  like,  po'  creeturs,  they're 
made  that  way,  and  can't  help  therselves.  No'm, 
'twarn't  natchel  for  him  to  talk.  They  never 
does.  It  takes  folks  to  find  out  from  their 
looks.  Ther's  signs,  'thout  no  words,"  said 
Mrs.  Bangs,  nodding  her  head  with  an  air  of 
mystery. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Bangs  ?  Had 
Colonel  Jones  any  attack  of  vertigo  or  faintness 
in  your  house  ?" 

"Oh,  yes'm,  yes'm  !  That  is,  I  mean  to  say, 
he  acted  strange  many  an'  many  a  time  !  He 
would  set  'thout  sayin'  a  word  an'  look  at 
Ma'y  Jane  sorrowful-like  an'  sorter  outdone, 
and  then  pull  himself  together  an'  git  out 
his  cheer  sudden,  an'  say  'good  evenin','  and 
go,  —  like  that." 

"Is  that  all  ?  He  was  always  very  sorry  for 
Mary  and  for  all  of  you.  But  about  vertigo 
or  faintness  ?  Try  to  remember !  Tell  me 


382  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

everything,"  said  Mrs.  Berkeley,  gravely.  She 
was  under  the  impression  that  Mrs.  Bangs  was 
keeping  something  back. 

"Lawd,  Mis'  Berkeley,  'tain't  no  use  me  beatin' 
round  the  bush  this-a-way  !  The  Gunnel  had 
sot  his  heart  on  Ma'y  Jane  —  an'  she  sholy  was 
a  mighty  pretty  girl  !  He  never  was  the  same 
after  she  went  with  Dick  Evans,  and  then  when 
she  married  Stevens  he  just  give  up !  Las' 
time  I  see  'im  he  come  to  tell  me  'bout  Mr. 
Bangs  an*  I  seed  he  was  miz'able  an*  onrecon- 
ciled." 

"It's  not  true,  Mama,  it's  not  true!"  cried 
Dorothea,  indignantly.  "Don't  believe  her! 
Oh  !  make  her  stop  !  I  know !  I  can  prove  it ! 
Send  her  away  !"  and  the  child  burst  into  pas 
sionate  crying. 

"Lawd,  Miss  Dolly,  what's  the  matter? 
Lawd,  chile,  I'll  take  it  all  back  if  it  hurts  yo' 
feelin's.  It  don't  make  a  mite  of  differ  now. 
Sometimes  folks  can  see  things  —  an'  then  ergin 
they  can't,  an'  —  ' 

"This  will  never  do,  Mrs.  Bangs,"  said  Mrs. 
Berkeley,  sternly.  "You  have  made  a  dreadful 
mistake.  Of  course  the  Colonel  was  silent  and 
sad  when  he  saw  Mary,  and  of  course  he  never 
was  the  same  after  she  'went  with'  Dick  Evans. 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  383 

He  was  relieved.  He  felt  she  was  provided 
for  —  and  when  that  failed,  he  made  another 
plan  for  her  and  for  all  of  you.  You  must  take 
back  all  you  have  said.  I  forbid  you  to  repeat 
it.  It  is  absolutely  untrue  —  and  perfectly 
ridiculous.  Dorothea  knows  what  she  is  talking 
about.  Come,  you  needn't  go,"  for  the  poor 
woman  had  risen  with  a  troubled  face.  "Stay 
and  get  your  dinner  —  and  we  will  find  some 
thing  to  send  Mary  —  but  I  forbid  you  to  re 
peat  what  we  know  positively  is  not  true." 

That  night  Dorothea  hid  her  face  in  her 
mother's  bosom.  She  had  the  Bible  in  her  hand. 

"Has  my  little  darling  something  to  tell  me  ?" 
asked  her  mother,  tenderly. 

"It  was  Shirley  —  it  was  Shirley,"  said  the 
sobbing  child,  and  opened  the  book  before  her 
mother's  eyes.  "He  loved  Shirley  —  and  she 
broke  his  heart.  He  was  miserable.  She  and 
Douglas  were  happy,  and  they  broke  his  heart !" 

"No,  my  child,"  said  her  mother  through  her 
tears.  "No  one  who  could  so  feel,  so  write, 
could  be  miserable  !  His  thought  was  too  noble 
—  too  exalted  !  It  gave  him  strength  to  bear. 
It  was  in  itself  a  reward  !  Nor  did  he  die  of  a 
broken  heart  !  God  called  him  as  he  had  called 
his  father,  —  as  he  had  called  his  only  sister .' 


384  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

Moreover,  his  life  had  been  happy !  'Never 
was  ill,'-  'never  grew  old,  never  saw  those 
he  loved  suffer,  never  suffered  himself  ! '  And 
it  was  given  to  you  to  make  his  life  so  happy." 
And  the  two  —  the  mature  woman  who  had 
known  sorrow,  and  the  child  not  yet  at  the 
end  of  her  first  decade  —  strove  to  comfort  each 
other. 

But  no  one  could  so  comfort  the  sorrowing 
child  as  a  little  boy  who  had  known  a  greater 
sorrow.  Children  are  best  understood  by  chil 
dren. 

Little  Jack,  her  White  Sulphur  friend,  had 
lost  his  mother,  and  meeting  him  one  day  at 
the  depot,  en  route  with  his  father  to  their 
Southern  home,  the  Doctor  had  begged  for  a 
visit  to  Dorothea.  While  little  Jack's  heart 
was  full  almost  to  bursting,  he  had  never  spoken 
of  his  mother  —  nor  could  he  speak  of  her  now. 
But  one  day  as  he  sat  with  Dorothea  on  the 
broad  stone  beneath  the  willows  and  tried  to 
amuse  her  with  the  antics  of  the  little  fishes  as 
he  fed  them  with  crumbs,  Dorothea  sobbed 
out,  "Oh,  Jack,  I  can't  —  I  can't  bear  it.  It 
hurts  so  here,"  laying  her  hand  on  her  breast, 
"  it  aches  so  !  Tell  me,  Jack  !  You  know  — 
tell  me  !  Will  it  always  ache  like  this  ?" 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  385 

"No,  Dolly;"  but  little  Jack's  face  contra 
dicted  his  words. 

"But  I  want  it  to  hurt  if  that  makes  me 
remember  !  I  don't  want  to  forget." 

"It  will  always  ache,  I  think,"  said  poor  little 
Jack,  "but  —  somehow --you  get  used  to  its 
aching,  and  you  learn  to  bear  it,  and  not  mind 
quite  so  much ; "  and  with  this  hope,  Dorothea 
strengthened  herself  to  endure. 

When  the  Colonel's  papers  were  examined, 
it  was  found  he  had  made  a  will  the  day  after 
he  learned  of  Shirley's  engagement.  He  manu 
mitted  all  of  his  slaves,  and  provided  for  the 
support  of  the  infirm  and  aged.  Except  Prim 
rose  and  the  cart,  and  some  books  and  pictures 
(to  Dorothea),  and  his  mother's  jewels  to  be 
divided  between  Mrs.  Berkeley  and  Miss  Prissy, 
he  bequeathed  his  entire  estate  to  Shirley. 

Before  Douglas  and  Shirley  returned,  Dr. 
Berkeley  completely  renovated  their  future 
home.  The  hospitable  entrance  was  reopened, 
and  the  box  at  the  gate  trimmed  back  to  its 
original  shape.  The  growth  of  ten  years'  weeds 
was  cleared  away,  trees  trimmed,  shrubs  pruned, 
the  gadding  vine  lifted  from  the  earth  and 
trained  anew  in  the  way  it  should  go.  Once 

2C 


386  THE  COLONEL'S  STORY 

more  the  sun  looked  down  upon  the  old 
garden  freed  of  its  trammels,  and  upon  the  lawn 
relieved  of  its  burden  of  rubbish ;  and  brought 
back  "the  hour  of  splendour  in  the  grass  — 
of  glory  in  the  flower."  The  old  colonial  house 
was  thoroughly  cleansed  and  renewed  within 
and  without.  Miss  Prissy  and  Miss  Betty 
Oliver  moved  over  to  superintend  preparations 
for  the  home-coming  early  in  April.  Everything 
needful  for  Shirley's  comfort  was  provided  from 
the  stores  at  Berkeley  Castle.  On  the  day  of 
her  arrival,  great  bushes  of  lilac,  syringa,  and 
snowball  were  in  full  bloom,  the  honeysuckle 
redolent  of  sweetness  and  the  Seven  Sisters 
Rose  budding  in  profusion  over  the  long  veranda 
in  the  rear.  "I  am  determined,"  said  Miss 
Prissy,  "that  everything  shall  be  exactly  as  my 
dear  James  would  have  wished ; "  and  she  kept 
her  word. 

The  young  people  he  had  loved  soon  gathered 
as  he  had  prophesied  they  would,  under  the 
shelter  of  the  old  mansion.  Some  of  the  choice 
spirits  of  our  world  never  seem  to  leave  it ! 
There  is  a  strange,  dear,  clinging  compan 
ionship  with  them  all  the  time.  They  live  — 
their  faces,  attitudes,  gestures  —  in  our  daily 
consciousness.  No  longer  a  part  of  the  world 


THE  COLONEL'S   STORY  387 

around  us,  they  have  become  a  part  of  our 
selves. 

Shirley  could  never  realize  that  she  had  lost 
the  dear  Colonel.  As  she  went  about  the  old 
house  singing  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart,  her 
eyes  would  meet  the  "following  eyes"  over  the 
mantel,  and  she  would  throw  them  a  kiss  from 
her  fingers,  never  stinting  in  her  song. 

Unconsciously  she  was  accomplishing  that  for 
which  he  had  given  his  life.  She  was  happy  ! 


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